


Take Me Back to Me

by andthenwedance



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Modern Era, Modern Retelling, New York City, Paris (City), Reality TV
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 20:31:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 103,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5980135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andthenwedance/pseuds/andthenwedance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When heiress Mary Crawley finds herself in the headlines for her third scandal of the year, Cora decides that it is time for Mary to turn her public image around. The solution? Hire humanitarian lawyer Matthew Crawley, whose new charity just happens to need a new donation, to play Mary’s boyfriend. (Modern Mary/Matthew!Fake Dating AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1: Phase 1- Set Them Up

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! It's been a really long time since I've written any fic (not that I haven't been writing, it's just bin mostly original stuff) and I was pretty sure that I was in retirement, but the fates had other ideas and this idea dropped into my head about three weeks ago and refused to let me sleep until I started writing it down :) I'm really excited for this, so thanks for joining me on this journey.
> 
> Tiny little bits before I begin~~ 1- The title comes from the song The Original by Roo Panes, which is a really beautiful song that fits this story perfectly. 2- There is a brief mention of sexual assault (cause you know Pamuk was a thing), so avoid that little bit if that is triggering to you. 3- I've written 25,000 words (6 chapters) so far, so keep checking back for more soon 4- The rating is starting off at T, but there is a chance it might change down the road. 5- The characters, though modern versions that I'm having fun with, belong to Julian Fellows
> 
> Enjoy :)

Chapter 1: Phase One- Set Them Up

"You really messed up this time, Mary," Cora said, as Mary collapsed onto the sofa beside her, burying her face in her mug of coffee to hide her tear-streaked face. It was far too early in the morning for a lecture from her mother. Not that it had stopped her from barging in this morning and insisting on trying to amend Mary's problems.

As if I need reminding, Mary thought miserably. In fact, it seemed like every tabloid on every newsstand, each salacious gossip website, and even those celebrity gossip TV recaps were repeating the same thing: Mary Crawley messed up. Of course they phrased it different ways each time: "Mary Crawley's Third Sex Scandal This Year," "Three Times The Charm: A Story of Mary Crawley's Affairs," and "Just Wait Till You See What Mary Did This Time."

The whole thing was stupid. First of all, this sort of thing never happened to men, even if they were the ones who deserved the blame. They never got criticized in the same way women did. Was anyone calling Tony Foyle a slut, a homewrecker? No, he was being portrayed as an innocent man mysteriously seduced by 21st century harlot, Mary Crawley.

None of this would have blown up either if it wasn't for the fact that Mary Crawley was the daughter of billionaire CEO Robert Crawley and his wife, one-hit-wonder musician Cora Levin. Having a famous family automatically put her in a spotlight that wasn't sure she would have chosen for herself. It didn't help that two years ago there had been a short-lived reality show about her family, a brainchild of her father's to help their business. The show had been a flop, but it had been just enough to ensure that every mistake Mary ever made would be splashed across every tabloid for the next century and a half.

"Mary," piped up her youngest sister, as she entered the room dressed in a simple spring dress, her short hair pinned up in a stubby ponytail, "Don't listen to mother. It's all going to be fine."

Mary let out another groan at her sister's painful optimism. It was easy for Sybil to say. She was the youngest, the darling of New York, and loved by basically all of the general public. She was put on magazines for doing charity work. Her online click-bait was "These Pictures of Sybil Crawley at the Animal Shelter Will Melt Your Heart." Sybil Crawley could do no wrong.

"I've got to dash," She said, "I'm meeting Larry for brunch and then we are going to work on painting a mural on a graffiti wall in the Bronx. Is it still okay if I stop by your apartment for dinner?"

"Of course, darling. Will Larry be joining us for dinner?" Asked her mother, as Sybil flitted around the room grabbing her wristlet (a gift from Mary, one of her earliest designs) and dabbing on lipstick.

"No," Sybil explained, "He's got a publicity thing to do. But you can see him tomorrow after the dress fitting. You'll be there, right, Mary?"

Mary groaned again.

Because her perfect sister also had a perfect fiancé. That's right, somehow her little sister, who was finishing her senior year at Barnard, was already engaged to successful, young Congressman Larry Grey while Mary herself was "off sleeping with half the world" (that particular sentence was in an article titled "The Crawley Sisters Special: The Inside Scoop on Sybil's Engagement, Edith's New Book, and Mary's Latest Scandal.") So now Mary was going to be forced to leave Sybil's penthouse where she'd been holed up for the last 24 hours for wedding dress fittings. It was the sort of thing that she would be excited about normally, but with Tony's betrayal and the headlines, the last thing she wanted to think about was love.

"Wait, shhh, girls," their mother said, "it's on."

Mary's stomach churned as she looked at the screen.

"Good Morning New York, my name is Richard Carlisle and welcome to today's show," said the plastic-y face of the morning show host.

Another thing that would make this all better was if Mary hadn't dated and dumped famous "Good Morning New York" host, Richard Carlisle. Their whole relationship had been a mess, one of those things more out of convenience and boredom than romance. She thought they broke up on fine terms. That was till her first scandal came out and Carlisle spent the first five minutes of the show berating her. And the same thing had happened the time after that. It was disgusting, but somehow her family couldn't stop watching it.

"Let's start with today's headlines," the man said, "Mary Crawley, former reality star and daughter of CEO Robert Crawley and singer Cora Levin, has found herself in her third sex scandal of this year."

"There are children dying in third world countries," Sybil sighed, "And this is the headline of the day?"

"It's Carlisle. What did you expect?" Mary remarked.

"Mary's bad luck, shall we say, began in January. As you remember, she dated country singer 'Duke Crowborough.' Their relationship came to a disastrous end when he left her for broody folk artist Thom Barrow."

Mary rolled her eyes. The whole first scandal had been stupid. She had liked Duke. He was kind and thoughtful. She hated country music, so she was better off without him. Near the end of the relationship, he told Mary that he actually was currently in love with another musician, a man. Mary had given him her blessing and encouraged his new relationship. But that didn't stop the tabloids from writing, "Mary Crawley Turns Duke Crowborough Gay." Honestly, it wasn't even a sex scandal, it was Duke trying to live his life and Mary hers.

"The second scandal was far more racy," Carlisle said, nearly giddy at the words. Mary winced as they flashed a picture of Prince Pamuk on the screen. "Mary Crawley was caught in a compromising situation with the Prince in an elevator February. They had been on a date at a fundraising gala in London. Photographers of the incident got some rather revealing pictures that happened to be released online."

What Carlisle, and all other media sources for that matter, failed to cover was that in this particular incident it was only Mary and the Prince's second date together at the very beginning of their non-existent relationship. They had hardly known each other, but the Prince was attractive and well, a prince. She had been in London at the time and agreed to go on the date with him. Half way through, he said he was tired, so why don't they head out and maybe get some drinks someplace else. On the elevator ride down from the party, he had pressed her to the wall of the elevator and began to undress her. Mary pushed him away, horrified- but well- that didn't stop a fleet of photographers waiting in the lobby when the elevator door opened from snapping photos of Mary half naked and dashing them across the internet. She didn't speak to Pamuk again.

Mary had been a mess after that. She was pissed about Pamuk assaulting her. She felt violated that every perv on the planet had now seen her tits. She was furious at the media for the inaccurate portrayal of all of it. Her therapist suggested that she get away for a while. In a split second decision, Mary had booked a flight to Bali and headed there for a month of relaxation.

"Mary's most recent scandal come from her recently trip to Bali," Carlisle began, and Mary buried her face.

How was she supposed to know that Tony Foyle was actually Lord Gillingham, an English aristocrat? Mary was born in England, her accent was a constant reminder of that, but she'd lived abroad, first in America for secondary school and university, then Paris after, for so long that she had forgot that the systems of peerage still existed in England. She knew of Lord Gillingham, everyone had. He was married to model and actress Mabel Lane Fox, who managed to be delicate in looks with a silver tongue for wit. When Mary met Tony on the island, he was fun and comforting. She confined in him about the drama of past few months, about her jealousy over her sisters' success, and the pressure of growing up in the spotlight. Tony offered her a shoulder to cry on, back massages, and kept her company through long afternoons on the beach. It wasn't surprising that she fell for him.

So when guerilla photographers snapped a picture of them making out on the beach- the whole world seemed to very quickly find out about how Mary Crawley had seduced a married man and Lord into a raucous affair.

In the past three months, Mary had been dumped, assaulted, and betrayed. But to the media, she was your run of the mill celebrity whore.

"I just don't get how any woman could do that to another woman," Sobbed Mabel into a microphone, mascara running down her cheeks.

"That was brutal," Sybil admitted, as the screen cleared and went to commercial, "I'm sorry for it. You know that these things never last forever though. Truly. There will be another scandal soon enough and everyone will forget."

"Probably another scandal I commit," Mary said, frustrated.

"Be quiet," Sybil reprimanded.

Two days ago, when the scandal first broke, her gut reaction had been to rush back to New York where her parents and Sybil still lived. She figured her Paris apartment would be surrounded by paps when she got back, so it was best to stay away from it for the time being. Besides, Sybil was the most calming about these sorts of things. Mary had spent the last day lying in the bed of the guest room, doing a combination of binge watching Netflix and crying into a bowl of ice cream. Not one headline read, "Mary Crawley Get Her Heartbroken by Asshole" or "Crawley Heiress Is Hurt For the Third Time This Year."

This morning, her mother had burst into Sybil's apartment and insisted that Mary get out of bed. That was the worst thing about having a one-hit wonder for a mother; she now had all the time in the world to fuss over Mary's life. She currently didn't feel much like the daughter of a once-famous musician, or an heiress for that matter, in her yoga pants, wet hair, and luke-warm coffee- but she supposed it was a start. However, seeing Carlisle recounting her affair on "Good Morning New York" was enough to make her want to creep back under the blankets of the guest room.

"We just need to do something to change your image," her mother said brightly, "Let's use the paparazzi to our advantage."

"How would you do that?" Sybil asked, swinging her wristlet around her arm, and looking at the time on her phone, "Damn, it's late, tell me quickly!"

"By finding someone upright to date Mary," Cora explained.

"That's ridiculous," Mary said, her voice sharp, "I don't need a man to fix my image."

"Just think of it, darling- some sort of humanitarian who wants nothing more than to change the world- dating you," her mother said.

"That sounds unbelievable," Mary snapped.

"That will make it even better," Cora said, "If someone good and honest likes you, that will launch you back into the good graces of society quicker than ever."

"This is stupid. Besides, I slept with a married man, I'm damaged goods," Mary said, gaging a bit at the fact that she was using that term, "No one sane will want to date me now."

"Mary, that is nothing that our money can't buy for you," Cora enthused, "If anything can fix your situation, it's the Crawley fortune."

"So this is your plan?" Mary gasped, "You are going to buy me some sort of humanitarian boyfriend?"

"I think this might actually work, Mary," Sybil said, before grabbing a cardigan and walking to the door, "Anyway, I'm off for real this time."

She pranced out the door and Mary turned back to her mother.

"This conversation is over," Mary said firmly, standing to head back to the guest room.

She got to room and collapsed on the bed. She already regretted getting out of it that morning. Life was much easier if she hid under the covers.

In the corner of the room, her pet rabbit Daisy was hopping around in a makeshift cage. Mary got out of bed to scoop the tiny bunny up in her arms. The soft, tiny ball of fur curled into her and Mary petted her gently.

Mary tried her best to stray as far as possible from doing anything that would mark her down as a vapid celebrity. She had enough problems with that already and didn't need anything to help spur another vengeful headline.

But Daisy was her one exception. She traveled everywhere with her. In fact, she had designed her own special bag that would keep Daisy safe. Daisy also had travel clearance, so she came with Mary on her trips around the world. Was it semi-ridiculous to carry around a bunny? Yes. But the small animal kept Mary calm and sane, so it was worth it.

She slunk back into her bed with the rabbit in tow. Her phone dinged with two text messages.

Edith: Heard the news on TV. How are you holding up?

While the Crawley family was close, her sister Edith was a bit of an anomaly. She had been fondly dubbed "the bookworm" by the press. She was younger than Mary by a year, but clever. Tabloids glowed about her acceptance to Princeton when she was younger, then the world exploded when she published her first novel, "The Mirror," two years after graduation. She had gotten a review in the New York Times and toted as the next thing in "Literary Fiction." Because of this, she lived a rather reclusive life in a cottage in Yorkshire and visited only at holidays. Mary knew why she did it. She wanted to keep her professional life as separate as possible from Sybil's star studded engagement and Mary's scandals. It made sense that Mary was only hearing from her now because she hadn't bothered to tell her the news. Even now, she wasn't sure if Edith really cared or was just texting out of sibling obligation.

Mary: Bad. Things are bad. Mother is worse than bad.

She bent down to press a kiss into Daisy's grey fur. Most days Mary liked Daisy more than people. Today was definitely one of those days.

Mary opened her next text.

Anna: How is Sybil's? Are you feeling any better?

Mary smiled at the text. Anna had been her roommate at Cornell. Not that any of the tabloids care to mention that Mary graduated from Cornell with a degree in Fashion Design and French, or that she got a highly competitive fashion design internship in Paris right after uni. Not to mention that Mary was starting her own handbag company now. Because apparently the media refused to ever portray her in a positive way.

Anna had been the first person she'd called after the photos leaked. She was a balanced woman. She had studied economics and Italian. Now she lived in Italy with her husband, Giovanni. He had been a dashing graduate student while they were undergrads and Mary remembered how hard Anna had fallen for him. They were engaged before Anna graduated and had a gorgeous wedding a year later in Tuscany. Though three years had passed since then, Anna was still happily married and living her dream life in Italy.

If only Mary could ever be so lucky.

Mary: Sybil's was lovely till mother showed up. She is now trying to buy me a boyfriend. Kill me now.

Anna: Oh god.

Mary: You know my mother, she can't have my image be tarnished.

Anna: Forget your image. How is your heart?

Mary: Haven't you heard? I don't have a heart. Everyone knows that.

Mary though miserably about an article she found online which had read, "Can anything be more heartless than what Mary Crawley did to Mabel Lane Fox?" Typical media pitting women against each other. In reality, it was never about her and Mabel. It was always about stupid Tony.

"Mary," shouted her mother, from the living room, "Come back in here!"

"No," Mary hollered back. Maybe if she just stayed in her room long enough, her mother would leave.

"Mary, please," Her mother said again, "I found him."

"What are you possibly talking about?" Mary said, reluctantly leaving the room, Daisy still in her arms, as she shuffled down the hallway.

"Matthew Crawley," Her mother said proudly, "Your new boyfriend."

"What?" Mary said. "Who is that?"

Her mother nodded up at the TV screen where a hansom flaxen haired man with a dusting of a scruffy beard across his fine jawline was standing at a press conference. Her mother paused the program and rewound to the beginning of the segment.

A reporter, thank goodness not Carlisle, was reading, "Matthew Crawley, the humanitarian lawyer and former fiancé of the late actress, Lavinia Swire, has announced in a press conference today that he is starting is own non-profit. You'll remember Miss Swire, while best known as a talented stage actress, was an active volunteer herself. Both Miss Swire and Mr. Crawley contracted a rare tropical disease while volunteering in Burundi last year. While Mr. Crawley survived the illness, Miss Swire succumbed to the disease. Mr. Crawley's new organization will work to fight neglected tropical diseases around the world."

Mary looked at him again. She briefly remembered it making headlines a few years back when Lavinia Swire had become engaged to a man who seemed unknown, but then was discovered to be working as a lawyer for many top humanitarian organizations. She could definitely remember watching the news when it was announced that the actress had died. Lavinia had been talented- Mary remembered seeing her in a Broadway show a few years back. She had soft red hair, a pretty face, and a memorable singing voice. The whole world seemed sad about her passing.

She hadn't know that her fiancé had been infected as well. She felt a pang of despair for Matthew. He must have been terribly ill himself when Lavinia had died. She wondered how he dealt with it. It made her own problems seem small.

"He's perfect," Cora said, bringing Mary back to the present, "He's obviously very attractive. He has a good image. He must be single. He'll be perfect for you. I'll have your father work out an arrangement."

"You can't be serious," Mary gasped. This sounded like some sort of medieval arranged marriage.

"Just you wait. You see, the most important thing is that he is starting a charity. He just set himself up for a bribe he can't say no to," Cora said gleefully, before taking out her phone, "Hello? Robert, darling."

Matthew Crawley smiled as he walked into the restaurant.

Today was a good day and he hadn't had a good day in a while. Since Lavinia had passed, things had been rough. It had been almost a year now, but he still felt haunted by guilt. But today he was finally doing something to make up for it. He wasn't sure he would ever feel redeemed, but at least this was the start.

"Matthew," called a voice, and he looked down to see his mother.

Every Saturday, regardless of whether or not he was launching a non-profit, he got brunch with his mother.

When he had started at Columbia Law, his mother had been in full support of his career, so much so that she followed him to New York despite her whole life still being in Manchester. Now, seven years later, his mother was a successful transplant into New York.

He figured the least he could do to make up for her displacing her life was to oblige to a weekly brunch with her, providing he was in town.

"There you are, Mother," He said fondly, dropping down in the seat across from her.

"You were brilliant at the press conference this morning," She said, her voice swelling with pride. He didn't know what he ever did to deserve having this woman as his mother.

"Thank you," He beamed, placing his phone on the table, before taking a sip of the coffee that must have ordered for him before he got there.

"Truly, I've had many messages from friends asking how they can start donating to your charity," Isobel told him.

"Did you link them to website?" Matthew asked eagerly.

"Just like you showed me," Isobel said, gleefully.

"Thanks, Mother," He said, "Now tell me about your week."

She launched into recounting her week. She worked as a Nursing Professor at NYU and always had an array of humorous stories about her students. She also spent a great deal of time with her book club, full of older women like herself who enjoyed both wine and literary fiction.

"We just finished The Mirror, by Edith Crawley," Isobel enthused, "Have you read it?"

Matthew thought back. He remembered picking it up in an airport last fall and then realizing it was about a woman whose fiancé is murdered before they can marry and must raise their illegitimate child on her own while running a paper. Then he remembered how he thought the idea of a dead fiancé hit too close to home, so he abandoned it in the airport and walked the other way. He flinched at the memory. It had been a year. But it was still so hard.

"No, sorry, I haven't," He said, lying was easier than explaining his sad life to his mother. She knew he was bothered by Lavinia's death, but he didn't want her to know the extent.

"It's truly brilliant," Isobel raved, "You must read it! I'll lend it to you. I can't believe I didn't read it when it came out. There was so much hoopla about it. But I dismissed it, of course, those Crawley's are so vapid- I didn't know their daughter could write something like that."

Matthew smirked, thinking of the Crawley family. He was always getting asked, jokingly, of course, if he was related to the Crawleys. It would be an easy way to change the subject away from dead fiancés. "Can you believe people have the audacity to ask if we are related to them?" He said, rolling his eyes in mock disgust and letting the conversation shift.

They ordered their brunch, blueberry pancakes for Isobel and eggs benedict for Matthew.

"I'm going to run to the toilet," Isobel said, "You can start eating, if the food gets here."

Matthew turned to his phone. There was congratulations text from Tom that he would reply to later. There were a few e-mails from eager philanthropists, which made him smile. There was a kind e-mail from Lavinia's father thanking him for the endeavor.

Then Matthew paused. There was an e-mail from Robert Crawley, CEO.

Dear Mr. Matthew Crawley,

I hope this e-mail finds you well. I watched you this morning at your press conference and I commend your bravery at starting up your own charity.

However, I must warn you that it is a hard road to run such an organization. You have the power to change many lives with your organization and I would hate to see it flounder.

I happen to find myself in a predicament. My daughter, Mary Crawley, has had her named sullied by the media in a series of scandals this year. My wife and I are looking for someone to help her image. We think you would be the perfect person. This may be a personal challenge for you, so we would like to inform you that you would be well compensated for your troubles.

The contract I am drawing up would oblige you to date my daughter till the end of August. Our youngest daughter, Sybil, will be married at that time. We ask that you pose as Mary's boyfriend until after the wedding has finished. If you come through on your side of the deal, Grantham Inc. will donate a half billion dollars to your organization. Think of all the good that could be done to prevent tropical diseases with that money.

You have till tonight at 9PM to either accept or reject my proposal. I'm sure you will understand that this deal is simply too good to pass up.

Sincerely,

Robert Crawley, CEO

"What are you gaping at?" Isobel asked, slipping back into her seat, her voice lifting Matthew's face from the phone he was gaping at.

"It's from Robert Crawley, CEO of Grantham Inc," Matthew said slowly.

"Really?" Isobel said in surprise, "What on earth does he want?"

"He wants to change our lives," Matthew said, staring back at the e-mail dumbly.


	2. Chapter Two: Phase 2- Forget Anything Happened

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Welcome back! I have so much gratitude for the amazing response that my first chapter got. I'm glad so many people are board for this journey because I am having way too much fun writing this.
> 
> This chapter is the shortest so far. Sorry! I wanted readers to get to know Mary and Matthew a little better on their own before they meet.

**Chapter 2: Phase Two- Forget Anything Happened**

"Tell me I'm making a bad decision," Matthew said, taking a huge gulp of Scotch. Then another.

"Wasting fine Scotch is a bad decision," Tom said, putting his hand on top of the glass to stop Matthew from taking another gulp of the alcohol.

It was 8:55PM and Matthew had the acceptance e-mail typed out, the contract signed, scanned, and attached. Now he was just morally berating himself about it before pressing send.

"Lavinia wouldn't be proud of it," Matthew groaned, burying his head in his hands.

"Nah, she'd think it's grand," Tom offered, "All she wanted a world with less pain in it. Think of all the people you'd help."

"A billion," Matthew mumbled into his hands.

He had done the research. 50 cents could provide treatment against common tropical diseases for one year. He could help a billion people with 50 cents.

"I can't say no, can I?" Matthew moaned.

"Not a chance," Tom said, "I'd be on your conscience. A billion people succumbing to tropical diseases all because you wouldn't pretend to date some rich girl for a few months."

Matthew groaned.

"Think on the bright side," Tom said, "From those tabloids we found, she's really hot. And I'm sure she had tons of experience- if you ever wanted to sleep with her it sounds like she'd say yes."

"Don't be crass, Tom," Matthew snapped.

They had spent the last few hours scrolling through online headlines about Mary Crawley in order to make the decision. He wasn't particularly pleased with what he had found. The last few months carried story after story of scandals. The most recently was particularly the most upsetting- her sleeping with a married man.

He hadn't dated anyone since Lavinia died. He felt sick that the first person he'd date after Lavinia, the woman who wouldn't harm a fly, the woman who constantly longed for a more loving happy world, would be Mary Crawley. The guilt of Lavinia's death felt fresh on his hands. To be replacing her so quickly with an heiress he hardly knew- It would be like dancing on her grave.

But that had been the awful part about the bribe. Robert Crawley, CEO, had made it way too hard to say no.

"I was just joking, mate," Tom said, clapping his shoulder, "But if you don't press send now, you will condemn a billion people-"

"Can you stop?" Matthew said.

He didn't want to think about condemning people to a terrible disease. One that he had far too much experience with. Tom was right; he couldn't have this on his conscience.

Send.

He pressed send.

It was done.

* * *

"What sort of man accepts a bribe to date a washed up reality star turned slut?" Mary asked, slumped in the chair at the bridal salon as she watched Sybil revolve in humongous white monstrosity.

"Don't call yourself that, Mary," Sybil chided, "It's not true. Do you think this is too puffy?"

"Definitely too puffy," Mary commented.

"The kind of man who agrees to that is the kind of man who can save billions of lives by accepting the donation," Sybil said, ushering over the assistant and politely requesting, "Something less puffy please."

She wandered off into the dressing room and Mary turned to her phone. She couldn't believe it last night when her father told her that Matthew had accepted the contract. Because Mary's life was now some sort of business deal.

Ever since she'd found out, she'd been turning the question around in her head. _Just what kind of person accepts this?_

She opened the text from Anna, whom she'd asked the same question to last night.

_Anna: Okay, I have details. He was raised in Manchester. Did uni at Oxford, law at Columbia. Works at the UN in the World Health Organization doing some sort of law thing. He uses his vacation time to visit third-world countries to do aid work. Basically this man is a saint._

Perfect. She'd landed a man who is a saint; while she stayed this plague on society for doing nothing more than simply exist.

_Mary: God, help me._

_Anna: He can't hate you too much if he agreed to be your boyfriend._

_Mary: I don't think he did this for me._

"Okay, what about this one," Sybil said, coming back out in a mermaid gown. Mary rolled her eyes, "Sybil you have the exact wrong body for that dress. Don't even bother looking at it- back, off you go."

Sybil pulled a face and shuffled back to the dressing room.

"You know," Mary called to her, "I could probably just find someone in Paris to make you something."

"No, I have to buy it from here," Sybil shouted back, "My best friend Gwen has some sort of distant relative that owns this place so I promised her that I'd buy my dress here. I don't need a designer gown."

"Whatever you say, Syb," Mary sighed.

"Besides, you design handbags," Sybil said, from behind the dressing room door, "So you can certainly make my wedding purse for me. Wait, are wedding purses a thing?"

Mary rolled her eyes and turned back to her phone.

_Anna: He is really cute. Take it from someone who spent the last hour googling pictures of him. He'll be nice eye candy if nothing else._

_Mary: Till his four months are over and he can go find someone worthy of his saintliness._

_Anna: Mary, you underestimate your own worth._

"What about this?" Sybil asked again.

The dress was understated- cap sleeves, plain white lace, but it fit her perfectly.

"That's it," Mary said, straightening up, forgetting her problems to focus on her sister, "Sybil, it's perfect."

Sybil spun in it. "Really? Do you think so?"

"Absolutely," Mary said, standing to grasp Sybil's hands, "You look radiant. This is you."

Sybil's face looked bright, as she took her reflection, "Mary, I think you're right. I think this is it! We found it."

"We did," Mary said, smiling broadly at her little sister.

"Maybe our luck has changed," Sybil said.

Mary rolled her eyes at her sister's optimism, "You never had a lack of luck. You're engaged!"

"Well, you helped me find this dress," Sybil said, her voice earnest "So maybe you'll get a slice of my luck too."

"You're a darling," Mary said, pulling her sister into a hug.

* * *

Tom strode the few blocks from the subway station to his cousin's bridal shop. He remembered back when they had first moved to New York, when Tom was going to start law school and his cousin, Maeve, was beginning her internship at the bridal salon. The pair of them were so young then, fresh out of Trinity College with high aspirations for life in the Big Apple.

A lot had changed since then, primarily; Tom had abandoned law one semester into Columbia. He had decided that his heart wasn't it, so ended up pursing journalism instead, which he highly preferred. The only good take away from his dalliance into law was meeting Matthew. They were both young, foreign, and new the city. They had become quick friends, despite the fact that their lives had taken different directions. Seeing as Tom's parents were back in Ireland, Isobel had taken to mothering him in New York and Tom quickly became a member of Matthew's small family. Maeve was always invited too, but she was often too busy designing and altering to have time to get out much. In fact, Tom was surprised that he had wrestled her into having lunch with him today.

He walked into the salon via the back door where the studio was. That was where he normally found Maeve. He tried not to flinch at wedding finery surrounding him. It was a terrible reminder that he was nowhere close to settling down.

"Maeve?" He hollered into the storefront area. There was no one in the back, so he figured he could walk into the boutique part of the salon.

It was rather empty for a Sunday. Normally the shop was crowded on weekends. There were only two women in the shop.

The first was stunning. She was dressed casually in a pair of skinny jeans, black boots, and a caramel colored sweater. She had black scarf draped around shoulders dramatically. Everything about her outfit was understated, but clearly well made. This woman had money. Her long black hair fell midway down her back. There was something familiar about. Tom had definitely seen her somewhere before. She was seated on a bench watching the other woman who was clearly the bride to be.

The future bride was beautiful in a delicate way. She was clearly younger than the other woman, who resembled her too closely to be anything but her sister. She had a bob of black hair and a rosy complexion. The wedding dress looked perfect on her, hugging her dainty features in the right places. She was twirling in the center of the room, talking into her phone.

"Larry, I found it, I can't believe it," She was saying into the phone.

Tom felt a pang of sadness. This woman seemed so full of energy and beauty; it was a shame that she was getting married. Especially at such a young age, the man must be very special.

"You shouldn't be here," Maeve whispered, appearing at his side, "I told you to text me and I'd meet you outside."

"I don't see how it's a problem," Tom scoffed, "There is hardly anyone in here."

"Exactly, it's a private fitting," Maeve explained, her voice still hushed, "You know, cause they are famous?"

"They are?" Tom repeated, taking in the two girls. Fame would certainly explain their strange familiarity to him- and the obvious quality of their vestments.

"The Crawley Sisters?" Maeve repeated, "Do you live under a rock?"

Crap. No wonder she looked so familiar. It was Mary. Tom and Matthew had read every article they could find about her the night before. They had read all the salacious details of the past few months.

"As in Mary Crawley?" Tom asked.

Maeve tossed her eyes into a roll and focused them at the older of the two sisters. She looked up from a message she was sending on her phone just at that very minute. Her brown wrinkled in confusion and she strode over to them.

"Is anything wrong?" She asked cooly.

"You're Mary Crawley?" Tom repeated.

Maeve covered her eyes in shame, "You'll have to excuse my cousin. He clearly was born without any manners."

"You're the one who is going to date Matthew Crawley," Tom remarked.

Mary's eyes bulged, "How do you know about that?"

He could feel not just Mary's calculating gaze on him, but Maeve's confused glance taking him in.

He hesitated for a moment before saying, "Er right, so this might be a good time to introduce myself, I'm Tom Branson, Matthew's best mate."

"And he just told you about our deal?" Mary said, her voice panicked.

"I mean I don't think he made a thing of it," Tom said, shrugging, "I think just I know about it. And his mum. Their as thick as thieves those two."

"Sybil," Mary called, and her sister paused her twirling to look at her sister.

Right, Sybil Crawley. The darling of New York. The sweetheart of the Crawley family. The one engaged to Congressman Larry Grey.

"I'll call you later," Sybil said into the phone before hanging up and joining them.

"What's the matter?" She asked before putting out a hand and adding, "I'm Sybil, by the way."

"This is a disaster," Mary told her, shooing her hand away, "Apparently Matthew has been telling people about the arrangement."

"Sorry," Maeve asked confused, "What is this arrangement?"

"Oh screw it all," Mary snapped, "Half the planet is going to know about this before it even happens."

"I swear Matthew is an upright lad," Tom attested, "I'm just his best mate. You told your best mate about the arrangement too, I suppose?"

Mary frowned, "I did."

"And clearly your whole family knows," Tom pointed out.

"True," Mary acknowledged.

"So you'll be fine. I swear I won't say word and neither will Maeve here, if she has even figured out what we are talking about," Tom vowed, "And you know your family will stay mum. So don't fret."

"That's easy for you to say," Mary said, "You don't live in _this_ world. If the press get word of any sort of scandal from me, I'll be ruined for good. I'll be made into a joke."

Tom felt a pang of sympathy for her for the first time. Maybe she was more than just a vacuous heiress.

"And that goes for Matthew too," Mary continued, "think of how it would look if it was revealed that Matthew Crawley, humanitarian health hero, had been bribed into pretending to date former reality star turned hoe, Mary Crawley."

"Mary," Sybil said with a little gasp, then sharply, "You've got to stop saying stuff like that about yourself. It's not true."

"Who cares? That's what the press says. What does it even matter what is true anymore?" Mary said, her voice ringing with a tired hopelessness.

"The papers aren't true?" Tom said, stopping for a moment.

"No," Sybil explained, "You see-"

"It's not important anymore," Mary said, cutting her sister off, her voice fierce. "Can you ensure that this secret never gets out?"

Tom felt a shiver go down his spine. Mary was so intense.

"I promise," Tom said.

Mary turned around to wander back into boutique, "And make sure that Mr. Crawley gets the message as well."

She went back to her bench where she took something from her purse. Tom thought it might be some sort of small animal. But he returned his attention to Sybil who remained in front of him.

"I'm sorry about her," Sybil said, "The most recent 'scandal' if we even want to call it that, has been particularly nasty for her and she had hardly gotten over the last one."

"That's unfortunate for her," Tom said.

"But that's the wonderful thing about Matthew," Sybil enthused, "He is going to give her her life back."

Tom smiled at Sybil. Clearly Mary's younger sister was less jaded and more optimistic.

"He's a good man and the whole family is grateful for what he is going to do," Sybil said, sincerely. "Will you tell him that too?"

"Certainly," Tom said, nodding.

"Will that be all for you today, Miss Crawley?" Maeve asked.

"Yes, thank you," Sybil said, "I'll go change and then leave it for you for the alterations."

She took a step towards the dressing room and then turned back to Tom.

"Well it was nice to meet you," She said, tentatively, "I'm sure we'll see more of each other."

Tom blinked at Sybil, looking so lovely in her wedding dress. _Wedding dress, mate,_ he thought to himself, _She's getting married. She's absolutely off limits._ She shook the thought from his head.

"I'd like that," he found himself saying back to her.

* * *

Matthew returned home that evening to find a new e-mail from Robert Crawley CEO.

_Matthew,_

_Thank you for accepting my contract. Welcome to our family. If there is anything you need for the duration your time with Mary, do not be hesitant to ask._

_The next step is easy. For the next two weeks, forget anything ever happened. Mary's name needs to slip out of the papers before we can begin to fix it. If you dated her now, people would say it is too soon. Mary will return back to Paris in a few days and go to work as if nothing happened. You should act the same way. Of course, it goes without saying that no one should know about this arrangement. Gossip about our family travels far too quickly._

_In two weeks, Mary will return to New York for Sybil's graduation. You will have dinner together at Chez François on April 25th. The next day the two of you will be spotted walking in Central Park. The following evening at a Broadway show._

_The next week you will visit her in Paris. Await further instructions on that trip when it approaches._

_I take these instructions to be simple, but if they baffle you for any reason, please let me know._

_Sincerely,_

_Robert Crawley, CEO_

"Shit," Matthew said, taking out his phone and jabbing Tom's button. He knew his mother wouldn't say a word about it- but Tom. He wasn't sure he had been right to trust him with the secret.

"Hey, mate," Tom's voice replied.

"Hey," Matthew said, standing from his desk, "Just so we're clear, the whole 'I'm dating Mary Crawley' thing is confidential."

"Right," Tom said slowly as Matthew walked to the mini-bar in his apartment to slug some scotch into a tumbler.

"Oh no, Tom," Matthew said, "What did you do?"

"I might have accidentally run into Mary Crawley and her sister," Tom said.

"Crikey," Matthew said, adding more scotch for good measure, "What happened?"

"Oh well naturally I made a complete ass out of myself," Tom said.

Matthew laughed, as he walked to his couch.

"I ran into her at Maeve's shop and I was so dumbstruck that I ran into I sputtered it all out," Tom explained, "And incurred her wrath."

"Wrath?" Matthew repeated.

"She's prickly alright," Tom murmured.

"Yikes," Matthew said.

"And I can't say I've helped you get her on your good side," Tom confessed.

"Brilliant," Matthew said with a sigh.

"But she's a knock out, maybe not as pretty as her little sister though," Tom said.

"Edith?' Matthew said, confused. "The novelist?"

"Who?" Tom said, clearly not knowing who he was speaking of. "No, I meant Sybil. The youngest one."

"Isn't she engaged?" Matthew said. He remember reading about how the Crawley's twenty two year old daughter was to be married.

"That would be why she was at my cousin's wedding dress shop," Tom said, practically.

"Of course," Matthew said. His thoughts turned back to Mary. He wasn't happy about the arrangement, but he was curious, "You said Mary was pretty though?"

"Stunning," Tom informed him, "Smarter than you think. You could tell." He paused, "And there is something about her. I don't think the tabloids have it right. I don't think she's the woman they make her out to be."

"What do you mean?" Matthew asked.

"When she talked about the press, she had this tired tone to her voice," Tom said, "And Sybil told her to stop saying harsh things of herself because they were true."

"You seemed to pay attention to what Sybil said," Matthew laughed.

"Can you blame a man?" Tom replied, "But about Mary, I think there is more her than meets the eye. She has a cold exterior, that's for sure, but you should give her a chance."

"I'm not sure I get a choice about that," Matthew said, bitterness lacing his voice.

"You know what else Sybil said," Tom remarked, "She said, 'That's the wonderful thing about Matthew. He is going to give her her life back.' You aren't just doing something good for those people with diseases- you are doing something good for Mary."

Mary Crawley was a household name for wild parties, celebrity gossip, and lurid scandals- did she deserve something good in her life?

_Don't think like that_ , Matthew told himself. He spent his life defending vulnerable, maybe Mary was part of that too. He needed to stop seeing her as burden if this was going to work at all.

But right now, the whole, "Forget anything happened," part of the plan sounded luxurious. In fact there nothing Matthew wanted to do more than forget any of this happened.

"Maybe, Tom," Matthew said, "The good news is, I don't see her for another two weeks. So I don't have to really worry about this for a while."

"Right," Tom said, "You'll let me know if Sybil says anything about me?"

"Tom, she's engaged," Matthew chided, "And I'm not ever sure I'll get to meet her."

"Still, will you tell me anyway?" Tom said.

"Sure, Tom," Matthew replied, "Shall we meet up for tennis on Thursday night?"

"Sounds good, Matthew," Tom said, "Good night."

Matthew stretched out on the couch, letting his weary bones sink into the soft cushions of his sofa.

"Good night, Tom."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews would be spectacular! Thanks so much everyone!


	3. Chapter 3: Phase Three- First Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! I've had a crazy last week touring with my choir. But long bus rides means lots of writing and editing, so I'm happy to say that I am currently writing chapter 9 right now! :) I hope you all enjoy this chapter- all the drama and tropes of our favorite couple's first date! Enjoy!

# Chapter 3: Phrase Three- First Date

 

Two weeks later, Mary was back in Sybil’s apartment, once again trying to beat jet lag and enduring another lecture from her mother.

 

“Please be civil on this date, Mary,” Cora was saying, as she sipped her tea on the couch while Mary paced, “I’m making sure that cameras will be there so you’ll have to be on your best behavior.”

 

“When am I not?” Mary scoffed.

 

“Don’t make me answer that,” Cora snapped.

 

“This whole thing is absurd,” Mary said, “I should have just stayed in Paris.”

 

“And miss my graduation?” Sybil said.

 

“I came back for you, darling,” Mary told her, putting a hand lightly on sister’s arm.

 

“Right, you remember the story right?” Cora said, “You came home from Paris for a long weekend for Sybil’s graduation and then she surprised you by setting you up with a blind date with one of her do-gooder friends. That’s what tonight’s date is- a surprising but perfect first date. Tomorrow you’ll agree to meet up to walk Matthew’s dog around Central Park. At the end of that date he’ll surprise you with tickets to a Broadway show so that he can see you one last time before you go back to Paris. The next day, at the end of the Broadway show, you’ll surprise him with a plane ticket to Paris the next weekend.”

 

“That’s rather fast,” Mary remarked, “Even for Mary Crawley.”

 

“We need fast. The quicker we can establish that you two are together, the quicker we can start mending your public image,” Cora explained.

 

Mary nodded and sighed, slumping into one of Sybil’s armchairs. Even when she thought she was safe in Paris, she had spotted paparazzi peaking through the windows at her work. The Tony Foyle scandal had faded from the headlines, but the fall out of it was still popping up. Mabel was filing for divorce. Other celebrities were speaking out about how awful it was that this had happened to Mabel. If Mary wanted her life back, she was going to have to do something soon. Not that she wanted the solution to be dating Matthew Crawley, but she did acknowledge that something had to be done to get her headlines to change.

 

“He’ll be here in five minutes,” Cora said, “Why don’t you go check your make up?”

 

Mary rolled her eyes and got up from the couch to the closest bathroom. Mary thought she looked good. She was wearing black tights and a tight red cocktail dress. Red, she always though, was her best color. Her hair was up in a French twist and she thought her make up gave her a sophisticated look. If anything, she would look good in the photos.

 

 _Crap_ , she realized forgot perfume. She reached into the drawer and found one of Sybil’s perfumes, a little sample one. She squirted in on her wrist and her collarbone. It smelled like jasmine and she liked it.

 

“Mary, he’s here,” Cora called.

 

Time to face her fate.

 

* * *

 

 

Matthew wouldn’t say he was drunk. But he wouldn’t say he was sober either. Had he planned for this to happen? No. But Tom had thought a few shots might loosen Matthew up for the endeavor and well, they might have taken it a tad bit too far. Luckily, the Crawleys had sent a car for him, so he wasn’t be driving, which was probably all that mattered.

 

He pulled up the building where reportedly Mary’s sister, the one Tom was now semi-in love with, lived. A man at the door showed him the elevator that would take him straight up. When he got there, there was a single door. Damn, what 22-year-old had a penthouse? He assumed that Sybil hadn’t bought it with her volunteer work, so that meant that her parents had bought it for her. He wondered what they had bought Mary.

 

He knocked once when the door opened. He had been expecting it to be Mary or Sybil, but instead it Cora Levin. He knew that she had been a bit of musical star back in the eighties but was now married to Robert Crawley CEO. She was the matron of the little Crawley family sideshow.

 

“Matthew,” She said, warming, “We are so happy to have you. Come in! Mary will be right out.”

 

The penthouse was huge. There was a large living area that the door opened to with a flat screen TV and sleek black leather sofas. Matthew thought that college apartments were supposed to be full of garage sale furniture and take out. But this looked like a space for a millionaire. Then again, he supposed they were heiresses after all.

 

“Hi,” said a petite, dark haired young woman, who Matthew recognized from the internet as Sybil, “I’m Sybil. Nice to meet you!”

 

Matthew shook her hand. She was pretty, Matthew agreed, but when her sister walked down the hallway and into the room- Matthew only had eyes for Mary.

 

Her dark hair was swept up, revealing her long neck. Her red dress swept low across her chest, tempting Matthew’s imagination. The skirt of the dress and tights showed off her slim figure. Tom was right, Mary was simple stunning.

 

“You must be Matthew,” Mary said. Her voice lacked the enthusiasm of her sister’s. In fact, Mary sounded quite bored.

 

Matthew watched her mother give her a look.

 

“We’ll be off now,” Mary said to her, “Don’t worry. There is no chance I’ll be sleeping with Matthew, so fret not over whether I’ll commit another scandal tonight.”

 

“Mary,” Sybil said, “You’ve got to stop saying stuff like that.”

 

She gave her sister a smile and Matthew wondered if her sweet younger sister was Mary’s weakness.

 

“Don’t mess this up,” Cora said to Mary, her voice firm.

 

“Whatever,” Mary sighed, grabbing Matthew’s arm and dragging him out the door.

 

Tom was right about the prickly bit too.

 

They headed into the elevator and took up an awkward silence. It was then that he realized that he hadn’t said a word the whole time he was in Sybil’s apartment. God, they must think him terribly daft. He tried to think of something to say to break the silence, but he was hesitant to say anything, afraid it would reveal that he was slightly inebriated.

 

He glanced down at her again. She had slipped her phone out of her bag and texting furiously. He looked down at her bag and noticed something moving within in.

 

“Um, Mary,” He said, sounding quite stupid, “Is there something moving in your purse?”

 

“Hmmm,” she said, distracted by her phone, “What did you say?”

 

Matthew felt rather put off. They weren’t even off the elevator yet and Mary was hardly paying attention to him.

 

“I said, is there something in your bag that is moving?” He repeated.

 

“Oh right,” Mary said, her face lighting up at the mention of it. “Are you allergic to rabbits?”

 

He shook his head and she scooped a tiny grey bunny out of her bag.

 

“This is Daisy. She goes everywhere with me,” Mary explained.

 

Matthew gaped at her. For a second he wondered how much Tom had put in his drink that he was seeing things. But when Mary held the rabbit up to him, he reached out to pat it and realized that it indeed very real.

 

He had expected Mary to be dumb. She was stupid enough to accidentally sleep with a married and to decide to have sex in an elevator and to date a gay guy who three months. Clearly, he wasn’t expecting much going into this date. But God, what kind of person keeps a live rabbit in their purse?

 

“Are you serious?” Matthew said.

 

Mary’s face instantly switched from happy to somber. She gave Daisy a kiss and put her back in the bag.

 

“Of course I am,” Mary said.

 

“You actually carry around a bunny all the time?” Matthew said.

 

This was so ridiculous.

 

“She’s calming,” Mary said with a shrug.

 

“Because it’s not like you can just book a flight to a Bora Bora if you feel stressed from your life of doing nothing,” Matthew said, laughing.

 

“Was that supposed to be funny?” Mary asked, her voice clearly stung.

 

 _Shit_ , what had Matthew been thinking. Even if she was rich and her father was paying him half a billion dollars to date her, that didn’t mean that he could say such things to her. Especially since her most recent trip to tropics had resulted in her catastrophic scandal. Matthew felt himself turn scarlet.

 

“No sorry, that was very rude, wasn’t it?” He said.

 

“Just don’t talk till we get to the restaurant,” Mary commanded as they exited the elevator and made towards where the car was waiting.

 

He sat uncomfortably in the car while Mary tapped away at her phone, a frown on her face. Matthew wasn’t quite used to being driven. He had always been the sort to take the subway and fly coach, even when he was with Lavinia. Mary’s life felt weird around him as they drove through city streets.

 

“This is it,” Mary said, when they arrived at a French restaurant.

 

The driver opened the door and Mary got out daintily, followed by Matthew. They took a few steps into the warm spring air before immediately entering the restaurant.

 

It was definitely nicer than his usual greasy spoon that he went to with his mother for brunch or the health-nut restaurants he went to with Lavinia. He had been to his fair share of business dinners and other important soirees, but he imagined this was the sort of place only Mary Crawley dined frequently.

 

In fact, he knew so, because she was chatting naturally in French with owner who had come to greet her.

 

“Vous-voulez une table privée, comme d’habitude, madame?” the owner was asking her.

 

Matthew knew enough French to follow along. Working in international law exposed him to knowing scads of other languages, but Mary spoke French smoothly with a natural accent. He would never speak it so well. He couldn’t figure out how it happened. He thought he remembered Mary’s father mentioning that Mary normally lived in Paris.

 

“Pas aujourd’hui, Jacques,” She was saying, “J’ai un petit ami nouveau et je lui veux montrer pour le monde.”

 

The man gave Matthew an appraising look.

 

“Il est beau,” the owner decided, “Un acteur?”

 

“Non,” Mary said, “J’ai fini avec les celebrities. Il est un avocat.”

 

“Pas mal,” The man said, giving a nod of approval, “Très bien, madame. Allez-y.”

 

Matthew followed Mary and the waiter to their table. It was very open, in the middle of the restaurant. Mary had said she wanted to show him off to the world.

 

He tried to remember to be well mannered and pull out the chair for Mary, but the shots from earlier were still making everything spin a bit and he accidently knocked the chair over. It landed with a loud thud, disrupting the low hum of the restaurant.

 

Mary looked completely mortified, as Matthew picked it up, the whole restaurant turning to look at them.

 

“Are you an idiot?” Mary asked, in a whisper when they both took their seats and the waiter went away.

 

“Sorry,” Matthew muttered. He suddenly felt very hot, his face flushed with embarrassment.

 

“Oh my god,” Mary said, finally piecing it together, “You’re drunk aren’t you?”

 

“Not really,” Matthew said, reaching for a glass of water and taking huge gulps. He knew his sweaty complexion was not helping his case.

 

“Not really? Not really isn’t good enough,” Mary snapped.

 

“Sorry,” He said again.

 

“Matthew,” Mary said, her voice still a whisper so the rest of the restaurant wouldn’t hear, “Do you know what is at stake here? You have to take this seriously.”

 

Matthew was angry. Here she was yelling at him for being rude, when she had been putting him down and ignoring him from the first moments she met him.

 

“Excuse me,” Matthew said, “You are one to talk about rudeness. You’ve been on your damn phone this whole time. You were quite harsh about me in front of your family. You clearly don’t want to be here.”

 

“I don’t,” Mary said, frankly.

 

“This wasn’t this your idea?” Matthew asked, puzzled.

 

“God no,” Mary said, “I think this whole plan is stupid.”

 

Matthew was confused and hurt. She didn’t want to do this fake dating plan? He was under the impression that it was helping her. It was probably him, wasn’t it? He wasn’t attractive enough, not famous enough for her.

 

“Why? Because it means that you can’t sleep with whoever you want? You’ve got to give up on your celebrities for a few months to date some lawyer nerd?” Matthew said, his voice now biting with fury.

 

“No,” Mary said, not raising her voice, “Is that what you think of me?”

 

Matthew felt himself sinking deeper into a hole, “I mean, I did my research. I wanted to know who I was getting involved with.”

 

“Oh and who is that? Mary Crawley, former reality TV star? Mary Crawley, vapid heiress? Mary Crawley, whore? Please, tell all about what disgusting tabloid version of myself you are one a date with tonight,” Mary said, her voice cold.

 

Matthew had nothing to say to that.

 

Tom was right. Mary was smarter than he thought she would be.

 

“Look,” Mary said, “You don’t have to like me or think I’m smart or interesting. But you have to respect me.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Matthew said.

 

“For the rest of tonight please don’t talk about me again,” Mary said, “I am going to make a pleasant face and listen to whatever you have to say- even if it is very boring. You are going to talk about anything you wish- law, politics, traveling, maybe not too many details about those tropical diseases. I am going to sit here and nod like the vapid heiress I am, so that the photographer my mother hired will get a nice picture of us on this stupid date. All you have to do is not look too drunk. Can you handle that?”

 

Tom was wrong. Mary was very, very clever.

 

She knew exactly what game she playing. Matthew needed to catch up.

 

“Right, so politics,” Matthew began, talking about whatever came to his mind first.

 

He began to jabber away, while Mary smiled and nodded at him. Her face looked so sincere, he would have thought that she actually cared about what he was saying. Maybe she really did, but after her harsh, but just words, Matthew doubted it.

 

Matthew nearly mucked the whole thing up, twice. The first was when he almost launched into a rant about the stupidity of electing someone as stupid and young as Larry Grey to congress. But then he remembered that insulting Sybil’s fiancé would likely be frowned upon.

 

The second time was when he was moments away from ordering rabbit stew as his main dish. Luckily, he saw Mary’s handbag twitch just in time and remembered Daisy. He was positive that eating a rabbit in front of Mary’s pet bunny would bad form. He smoothly ordered a steak instead.

 

When the meal was over, he helped Mary up from her chair and offered her his arm. He hadn’t noticed a photographer yet, but he supposed they were likely very sneaky.

 

She took it with a smile, leaning on him and looking up at him a purely adoring look. They got outside and Mary turned into him, his arm falling from her grasp and curing to wrap around the small of her back. She reached up to put a kiss on his cheek.

 

Matthew was momentarily shocked by her movement. She felt very nice in his arms, her soft lips on his cheek. He was struck by how thin she was. He wanted to wrap his arms tighter around her and pull her close. He want to kiss her full on the lips. He didn’t know where this sudden rush of affection for her came. Maybe it was her smiles and nods throughout dinner. Maybe it was how very beautiful she looked in the sunset. He wondered why she had all of a sudden become so affectionate.

 

Then he glanced up and noticed the camera from down the street and even a few people were gathered outside the restaurant with iPhones.

 

This wasn’t affection. This was show time.

 

“Thank you for tonight,” she said softly, “It was lovely.”

 

“You were very lovely,” He said, letting his voice fill with adoration. It wasn’t a lie.

 

Mary closed her eyes her eyes lightly before looking up at him demurely.

 

“Will you go on a second date?” Mary asked.

 

“Without a doubt,” He said quickly.

 

Matthew thought back to his e-mail with Robert- a walk in the park tomorrow, so he quickly and supplied, “Would you like to meet my dog?”

 

“You have a dog?” Mary asked.

 

“His name is William. Big golden retriever,” He said looking down at her. She was so beautiful as she raised her delicate and expressive eyebrows. “Would you like to take a walk with us tomorrow afternoon? You can even bring Daisy.”

 

Mary gave him a wide smile. It hurt his heart a bit, because he knew it was acting. Not that he cared about making Mary Crawley smile. This whole thing was stupid.

 

Okay, maybe he did want to make her smile. Matthew felt absolutely befuddled.

 

“I’d like that very much,” Mary said, “Now lets get in the car.”

 

She took is hand and pulled him forward. The chauffer opened the door to her car and they got in.

 

Mary immediately dropped his hand and her smile. She was a terrific actress.

 

“Well we survived it,” Mary said, with a sigh of relief.

 

“That last part was very good,” Matthew said, not exactly sure if he was referring to Mary’s acting or her smile or her beauty or her lips on his cheek or the new feeling that was swirling inside him that he very much wished didn’t exist.

 

“Well, get used to it,” Mary said sourly, “We get to do it all again tomorrow.”

 

She crossed her legs and leaned back. She took out her phone and started tapping on it again. Whatever small warmth existed between them before had vanished. It had been only acting. Her icy shield was back up.

 

They started making their way towards his apartment, the familiar streets of his neighborhood coming into view. He didn’t want to end the date like this. Even if it was fake. He felt terrible about the way it started.

 

The car pulled up to his building and he hesitated. Mary was still absorbed with her phone, not looking up. He thought of what Mary said earlier, all of the fake versions of her circulating in the tabloids.

 

“For what it’s worth,” Matthew said, “I’m really looking forward to getting to know the _real_ Mary Crawley.”

 

* * *

 

Sybil was curled up in bed flicking through bridal magazines when she heard Mary return. She poked her head out of the door of her room.

 

“Hey, how’d it go?” Sybil asked, excitedly.

 

“I’m not talking about it tonight,” Mary snapped.

 

“But I want to know what happened,” Sybil protested.

 

“No,” Mary said, slamming the door to the guest room, “And that’s final.”

 

Sybil let out a dramatic groan and stomped back her room.

 

She pulled out her phone. If Mary wouldn’t tell her what happened, she would find out for herself.

 

It took a total of seven minutes to locate Tom’s number. She simply texted Gwen, who was some sort of computer genius and was always able to information in usually legal ways, who sent her the number back as if it was nothing.

 

_Sybil: Hey! It’s Sybil Crawley, Matthew’s fake girlfriend’s sister. Do you remember me? (also hopefully you don’t mind I found your number- don’t ask how)_

She had only flipped one page in the magazine when her phone pinged back.

 

_Tom: So good to hear from you! Of course I remember you. What’s up?_

_Sybil: Do you happen to know about how Mary and Matthew’s date went? Mary won’t say a thing._

_Tom: Bad. Very bad._

_Sybil: Oh no!_

_Tom: Well I suggest he loosen up with a few drinks before it and well- we might have gone a tad too far._

_Sybil: No!!! Dates with Mary Crawley are not something to pre-game._

_Tom: Duly noted. Anyway, he knocked over a chair at the restaurant. Then Mary berated him for being drunk. Then he decided it would be prudent to start insulting her._

_Sybil: What? Why?_

_Tom: He was being an idiot. Apparently Mary put him in his place._

_Sybil: She would._

_Tom: I don’t think Matthew knew what he was getting himself into._

_Sybil: Mary is icy I suppose._

_Tom: No, no, maybe not like that, I think he expected her to be ditzy heiress_

_Sybil: Then he realized too late that she is brilliant?_

_Tom: Yeah, he said she was very clever._

_Sybil: Yeah, the tabloids like to underplay anything significant she’s done other than turning all her heartbreaks into scandals_

_Tom: So those really aren’t true either? Not even close?_

_Sybil: Now you’re catching on._

_Tom: What do we do to fix it?_

_Sybil: I’m not sure what we can do for them, but I do want this to be a success._

_Tom: Well, I think they are both far to stubborn to fix it themselves._

_Sybil: That’s very true. Shall we try our bests to convince them to give it another shot?_

_Tom: That sound good. You seem to know Mary better than anyone and I can work with Matthew._

_Sybil: They are meeting tomorrow? In Central Park?_

_Tom: Exactly. So whatever we do, we need to do it by then._

_Sybil: We can do this! We both care about them too much to watch them fail_

_Tom: That’s the spirit, Syb. Good luck!_

_Sybil: Thanks! I’ll need it! You too._

_Tom: Good luck, Syb._

She clicked her phone off and turned back to her magazine. She smiled at a bit thinking of how easy it was to talk to Tom. She liked that she hardly knew him and he was already giving her a nickname. She liked that there was someone who cared about her sister and this plan as much as she did.

 

As Sybil closed her eyes, she realized that there was only one person who could get through to Mary better than she could. She flicked her phone back on and sent one final text before she fell asleep.

* * *

 

Mary woke up the next morning to an e-mail from her father.

 

_Dear Mary,_

_I heard from Sybil that your date with Matthew was a disaster. Luckily, the press didn’t catch that (see attached article “Tonight Was Lovely: The Inside Scoop on Mary Crawley’s Latest Date”)._

_You can’t let this happen. I am not paying this man half a billion dollars to be insulted by you. If you want to fix all the damage that was done, you have be all in._

_To be honest, Mary, I think this would work best if you tried to get him to fall in love with you. If you spend the whole time faking it you’ll both make yourselves miserable. I know you hate this idea, but if you can at least make him enjoy it, you’ll make it less painful for the both of you._

_As much as you hate it, you need him. And he needs you._

_Sincerely,_

_Robert Crawley, CEO_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully you all can forgive our babies for bringing out the worst in each other on their first date! I'd love to read your reviews! I've had a pretty bad day today- so maybe you're responses will cheer me up :)


	4. Chapter 4: Phase 4- Give it a Second Try

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Everyone!! Thanks for all the lovely reviews- they definitely made me smile. When I posted the last chapter I was struggling to decide what to do after graduation which was why I was sad (big decisions are stressful)- but I've decided to move to Ireland next year for a fellowship, so I'm pretty excited about that. My senior thesis is due in a few weeks though, so I'm not sure how much time I'll have for free writing, so if updates get a bit more spotty- that's why.
> 
> There is one paragraph in this chapter that is completely ridiculous and filled with puns that you will understand if you've seen a certain musical... I'm not sure if I should apologize for that- but I hope you enjoy it anyway!

Matthew stood waiting at the Alice in Wonderland statue where he had said he would meet Mary. He was delicately trying to balance two cups of Starbucks coffee, while keeping William’s leash around his wrist. Mary was supposed to be here ten minutes ago and both William and Matthew were starting to get antsy.

 

Tom had called him the night before and he had spilled the whole story to him. Tom had berated him for his callousness towards Mary. He’d encouraged him to look up some actual facts about Mary, other than the stuff they’d read in tabloids. Matthew felt rather chagrined to find that Mary had studied at an Ivy League university and was starting her own handbag line. Clearly the real Mary Crawley was far more clever than the press was giving her credit for. He felt awful about how the date the day before had gone. He had meant what he said though; he wanted to get to know who Mary truly was. Tom had called back the next morning and insisted that Matthew go out of his way to make it up to her. Matthew wasn’t entirely sure how to apologize. But he figured buying her Starbucks was a start.

 

“There you are,” Mary said, her voice bright, coming up from behind him, taking him by surprise.

 

He turned slowly as to not let the Starbucks mugs tumble down. He was not going to disappoint her again.

 

“I wasn’t entirely sure you’d turn up,” Matthew said, taking her in.

 

She was dressed more casually today. She had on black jeans that framed her legs perfectly. She had had on a light blue top, slight cropped so that revealed a tiny strip of her stomach, a nod to the theoretical spring weather. Over it was a blue jacket made out of some exotic material that Matthew couldn’t place. Her loafer shoes were nearly the same color, made out of suede. A handbag, likely one of her own design, was over one of her shoulders. He wondered if Daisy was inside. Her whole look had this lovely cohesion to it that impressed him. He was beginning to realize that Mary had an impeccable attention to detail, especially in clothing (though he didn’t doubt it extended beyond that). Whether he had intended to or not, he already admired her greatly.

 

Mary shrugged with a coy smile, “I should hate to be predictable.”

 

He looked at her hand, which she was raising with a smile. She was also holding two cups of a coffee.

 

“I brought these as a-,” he started, holding up his cups.

 

“As a peace offering?” Mary laughed.

 

“Exactly,” Matthew said.

 

“Well it seems you beat me to it,” Mary laughed.

 

“And I put so much work into this,” Matthew said, surprised by Mary’s enthusiasm, but warming to it, “I searched all over the internet to see what Mary Crawley orders at Starbucks.”

 

“That’s quite clever,” Mary said, “I just had Sybil ask Tom.”

 

“I think you have me beat for cleverness,” Matthew admitted, wishing he could express to her how much he thought so.

 

They looked down at the cups uncomfortably.

 

“What do we do with them now?” Matthew said, feeling rather foolish with four cups of coffee for two people.

 

“Aren’t you the humanitarian?” Mary teased, “Surely we could find someone who could use a surprise cup of coffee.”

 

“That’s rather kind of you,” Matthew said, as they looked around for someone to give their coffee to.

 

“Does that surprise you?” Mary asked, with a low laugh.

 

Matthew smiled at her, not answering, as he noticed to two parents who were pouring over a New York City map while trying to keep their three toddlers from running everywhere. Matthew walked over and passed his coffees off to them, pausing to ask if they needed help with directions, before returning to Mary.

 

“Shall we walk?” Mary asked, passing him one of the coffees she got for him.

 

“Lead the way,” Matthew said.

 

They started walking in silence beside each other, William a few steps ahead. Matthew couldn’t stand it.

 

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” He said, “I truly am. What you said-“

 

“You should learn to forget what I say,” Mary said, looking down, “I know I do.”

 

Matthew looked at her. There was a great deal of sadness inside Mary, he realized. For a woman so famous, so smart, so successful- it seemed like she carried around huge burdens. He wasn’t quite sure what they were, but her explosion last night at dinner did seem to be an indication.

 

“What you say is important to me,” He said firmly, “Like I said last night, I want to get to know you, Mary. The real you. Whatever I thought I knew about you, I’m going to forget it.”

 

“That’s kind of you, Matthew,” Mary said, taking a sip of her drink.

 

“I’m very sorry I make you angry,” Matthew said.

 

“My life makes me angry. Not you,” Mary offered.

 

“Tell me,” Matthew said, his voice becoming soft.

 

“I just don’t think I need a man to solve my problems,” Mary said, “I mean you seem kind and smart. You seem to be quite successful at saving the world. I’m happy to have made your acquaintance. But there is something very, I don’t know, 1900’s about hiring a man to fix your problems. I want people to respect me because I am a person of substance not because I’m dating a certain person. Do you see why that upsets me?”

 

Matthew understood well. Mary had every right to be upset about that.

 

“I’m sorry it worked out this way,” Matthew said sincerely, “If there is anything I can do to help-“

 

“You can’t,” Mary said, “We are both already in this too deep. It’s unfortunate, but true. The press have already published stuff about seeing us out last night. We have to do this for real. Not just for me, but for you too.”

 

“Well you seem like a lovely, smart woman,” Matthew said, “Maybe we just pretend we are on a real date and go from there.”

 

“So what would we do, if this was a real date?” Mary asked, smiling. She seemed like she was starting to trust him just a bit at least.

 

“I would ask you about your work. You design handbags? In Paris?” Matthew said.

 

“That’s right,” Mary replied.

 

She launched into a description about her work. She talked about the difficulties of starting up her own line. Her family name both a help and hindrance when it came to breaking into the scene. It gave her recognition, but also held her back from being taken seriously. That seemed to be a reoccurring problem for Mary.

 

“Your sister,” Matthew said, “Edith? She is hardly in the press ever, unless it’s about her writing. Could you do what she did? Just move some place far away.”

 

Mary shook her head, “It seems nice, doesn’t it? In many ways I envy for her for being able to hide away in Yorkshire and write her novels. But the fashion scene is in Paris, so I’ve got to stay there if I want to get anything done.”

 

“That’s ashame,” Matthew said.

 

“Not always. I adore Paris. I was one of those kids who grew up wanting to live in Paris,” she said, “I did a year abroad there in university and of course when I got there I realized that it smells more like cigarettes and piss than flower stands and perfume. But it’s still beautiful- there is always art and music and delicious food. I can’t give it up, no matter what I do.”

 

“That sounds quite nice,” Matthew remarked. He wanted to know more about Mary’s world.

 

“Have you been to Paris before?” Mary asked.

 

“A bit, yes, stuff with UNESCO now and then,” Matthew explained, “Just business really. Seeing the sights if I got a chance, but nothing really more than that.”

 

“Well,” Mary said, “You’ll have to see it sometime.”

 

Matthew remembered what her father had said. Mary would invite him to Paris after tomorrow’s date. But they were on real date, not a contrived one. So he didn’t say that I knew that he would be there too.

 

He just said, “I’d like that very much.”

 

Because it was true, all of sudden he wanted to know Mary’s Paris. He wanted to discover what about it made her dream of it, even when her romantized version of the city faded.

 

Matthew didn’t want to admit it, or maybe just a little bit of him did, but he was becoming more and more interested in Mary’s world. Her life was chaotic, but she was still trying to make her world beautiful.

 

“Have you a favorite book about Paris?” Matthew asked her. She had clearly proved herself plenty intelligent, so he thought literature might be a nice place to sway the conversation.

 

“Do you La Dame Aux Camelias?” Mary asked, her accent perfect.

 

“The lady of the Camelias?” Matthew repeated, translated. “Camelias are?”

 

”Flowers,” Mary explained. “It’s by Alexandre Dumas Fils. It takes place in the Belle Epoque. It’s about a high class prostitute who falls in love with an ordinary man.”

 

Matthew looked up at her and wondered if she was thinking of herself. It sounded similar, woman made to look bad by society, that was Mary, wasn’t it? But who was the man?

 

“But the story turns rather tragic,” Mary went on, “She dies of tuberculousis.”

 

Suddenly, everything shifted in Matthew’s head.

 

He wasn’t in the park anymore. The spring air was replaced by the cold, sterile smell of the hospital. The feeling of being hot and cold all at once. The whirling noise of medical machines that were keeping him alive. Fighting for every breath. Then learning that somewhere in the same hospital, Lavinia had lost her fight.

 

The memories hit him all at once and washed over him. The guilt. So much guilt.

 

He thought he’d be able to escape here, in the park, in the city, with Mary. At least the good part of Mary’s arrival in his life is that it had wholly distracted him from the guilt that had been swirling around his life for months now. But all of a sudden it was back in full force.

 

He swayed a bit on the spot, lost in the memories, when he felt Mary’s cold hand on cheek. She steadied him. He closed his eyes and focused on her touch. He was here. He was with Mary. He wasn’t in a hospital. He wasn’t sick anymore.

 

“Shh,” Mary said, her voice soothing, “Breath. You’re safe. You’re okay.”

 

He took breaths, trying to push the images away.

 

“I’m sorry,” He said softly, feeling silly.

 

“Don’t be,” Mary whispered back.

 

“I feel rather stupid,” He admitted, blinking his eyes open again.

 

She took her hand from his face, and he felt himself sink a bit. But she took his hand and squeezed it, before pulling him over to a bench. William trailed after them.

 

“It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have mentioned that, should I?” Mary said, hesitant, “It must have triggered something?”

 

Matthew sank into seat of the bench and sat beside him. She crossed her legs and leaned back, but never let go of his hand.

 

“Yeah,” Matthew said, “It’s been getting better recently. But after she died, I just- I- I’m sorry. I really can’t talk about this. Not quite yet.”

 

“It’s okay,” Mary said, “Lucky for us, we’ve plenty of time before us with only each other for company. So we can talk of it another time, or never really, if you prefer that.”

 

“Thank you,” Matthew said, giving Mary a small, gracious smile.

 

“Do you want to hold Daisy?” Mary asked. “I know it sounds silly, but there is something really therapeutic about holding her.”

 

Matthew laughed, “Sure, why not?”

 

Mary smiled and lifted the small rabbit out of her bag.

 

“Here, see, how I’m holding her?” Mary asked, showing how she cradled her, “It’s easy, I promise.”

 

Mary placed the rabbit in Matthew arms. The small animal felt warm inside his arms. He petted her and he felt a sense of calm settle over him. He wasn’t particularly keen on small animals normally, but he liked Daisy. He understood why Mary carried her around all the time.

 

“This is very soothing,” He commented.

 

“Good,” Mary said, “That’s what I think. That’s why I go to all the trouble to carrying her around.”

 

Matthew wondered what sorts of things sent Mary into a panic. Why did she need to carry around Daisy to stay calm?

 

“Did you make the bag for her yourself?” Matthew said, “It can’t be easy to keep her safe if you take her around a lot.”

 

Mary nodded, “It was one of my early lines when I was start off. I did a bunch of bags for animals- little dogs, cats, even one that has a water panel for fish, and then of course one for Daisy. There were lots of bags that obviously for pets, but I wanted to make something a little more couture and subtle. It’s got ventilation and panels that pull out for cleaning, so the bag stays sanitary. It’s been pretty successful. You’d be surprised the amount of people who want to take their small animals with them places.”

 

“That’s brilliant,” Matthew said. The day before, her bunny and her handbags had seemed stupid, but today Matthew had a whole different appreciation for Mary Crawley.

 

“What about William?” Mary asked, “Does he travel with you a lot?”

 

Matthew shook his head, “I do a bit of travel for work or charity, but my mother lives in town so she watches him when I’m away.”

 

“That’s nice, to have family in town to do that,” Mary said.

 

“Do you have family in Paris?” Matthew asked.

 

“Not at all,” Mary said, her eyebrows dancing, “But that’s for the best.”

 

He thought of how controlling her mother had been and her father’s wacky e-mails. He could understand that.

 

He smiled at her, “Today has been really lovely.”

 

“I know,” Mary said, “I thought it might be too cold. Late April is always a bit of a toss up really. Sometimes the rain is quite awful.”

 

“Not the weather,” He said, “You. It has been really lovely spending time with you.”

 

Mary cocked her head to the side in surprise, as if she was trying to figure out if he was acting or telling the truth. To be honest, Matthew didn’t even know.

 

“I was wondering if I could see you again tomorrow,” Matthew asked, throwing a bit of a smirk into his statement, knowing it wasn’t a surprise. But as long as they were pretending this was a real date he might as well go with it. He searched his pockets for the tickets.

 

“Is that so?” Mary said, pressing her lips together into a smile back.

 

“I have these ticket to a play,” He said, “A musical on Broadway. It’s got lots of good reviews. Are you up for it?”

 

“With you?” she said, her voice sincere, “Of course.”

 

* * *

 

The next day the car dropped Mary off at the theater. She and Matthew had been planning on driving together, but sometime had come up at work for Matthew, so he was going to take a cab and meet her there. It was a warm night, so she decided to wait outside for him and take in city around her. The theater was decked out in gold with black stars, which seemed like some sort of motif for the show.

 

Yesterday had gone very well, Mary had decided. Her father’s advice had been perfect. _Make him fall in love with you_.

 

It had been hard at first to figure it out. She had been quite frosty the day before, so she couldn’t come in full force. The coffees were a nice touch and so was their walk and light conversation through the park. She had been thinking she was doing a good job.

 

And then Matthew had had that moment of flashback, or panic, or whatever it had been. Mary had been thrown. She’d calmed him down, led him to a bench. She had even give him Daisy to hold.

 

It had been a sweet moment. But what of it? Why had she done that?

 

Had it been part of the plan to get him to fall for her? If it was, it kind of made her a shitty person. Taking advantage of his moment of weakness and exploiting it for her own gain- that was pretty low- even for Mary Crawley.

 

But what if it wasn’t that? What if she cared, just a tiny bit, for Matthew? He had certainly been better company yesterday than he had been the day before. He was attractive and smart. He was both the kind of guy who was below her, socially, but yet was still unattainable a different way. A guy like Matthew would never give her a chance if he wasn’t bribed to.

 

She couldn’t possibly be falling for Matthew Crawley. She couldn’t possibly be falling for someone that her family had ordered her to date. That wasn’t possible.

 

“Mary!” Hollered his voice and Mary looked up to see Matthew coming down the street.

 

Regardless of what of she thought, it didn’t matter now, it was show time.

 

“Darling,” She exclaimed back to him, as he approached. She pressed a light kiss to his cheek and took his hand. That would look good if there was anyone around watching. She did a brief glance around, there were definitely a few people with cameras looking at them.

 

They started making their way into the theater.

 

“Matthew,” she whispered, “This play, it’s not going to trigger anything, is it? Theater was Lavinia’s thing, wasn’t it? I don’t want you to feel like you have to-”

 

He shook his head, “I picked this one for a reason. It’s all hip-hop and rap. Plus, no one Lavinia knew is it. It’ll be quite safe. And the reviews are amazing. I think it will be quite brilliant.”

 

“Hip hop and rap in a musical?” Mary said, raising her eyebrows.

 

“And get this,” Matthew said, rubbing his fingers over hers, “It’s about the founding fathers.”

 

“Oh,” Mary said, looking down at the ticket as she passed it to the ticket taker, “That explains the title I guess. It sounds rather odd. You said, the reviews were good?”

 

“It’s the hottest show to see right now. People are scrambling to find tickets,” Matthew explained, “I think you’ll like it.”

 

They entered the theater and took their seats. Because of Matthew heading late from work, they walked in just as the lights were diming. The seats were fantastic and Mary was impressed that Matthew had snagged them. Then again, she wondered if her father had footed the bill. That was much more likely, especially if what Matthew had said was true and they were hard to find.

 

As the play began, Mary forgot about everything. She forgot to pay attention to whether or not they were still holding hands (they were). She forgot about her frustration over the fake dating arrangement. She forgot about how her uncomfortable confusion about her feelings for Matthew.

 

She was too caught up in the story of a foundling founding father. Everyone sang and rapped so well. Mary was the sort of person who normally didn’t care for rap, but it seemed uncannily perfect here. Even the more minor characters were fleshed out in unique ways. She found herself caring about each character.

 

Through the intermission, she and Matthew raved non-stop to each other. She hardly wanted to take a break from the show and she was quite satisfied when the second act began. She sobbed through the second half, but she absolutely admitted that she was blown away.

 

“That was spectacular,” Mary exclaimed, as she rose her feet after the show, clapping.

 

“It truly was,” Matthew said, standing to clap beside her.

 

“Thank you for picking out this show,” Mary said, looking up at him, letting a look of adoration form on her face, “You’ve excellent taste.”

 

“Thank you,” He said, wrapping an arm around her and kissing the top of her forehead. “I’m glad you came with me, Mary.”

 

Did he mean that? Or was it just for show?

 

Mary didn’t want to like how his arm felt around, how it made a tingle go down her spine. She didn’t want to think about how comforting his lips felt on her head.

 

Regardless of her confused feelings, her number one goal of tonight was to charm him. Her own emotions were unimportant.

 

“Come, darling, let’s go outside. I’ve something for you,” She said. It was noisy in here and she had things to do.

 

They joined hands and began to make their way from the auditorium to the lobby.

 

“Matthew Crawley?” Asked a voice, in a bit of a gasp.

 

Matthew turned to the voice first, but Mary let herself revolve with him. They were facing a short woman with dark curly hair.

 

“Ah Sarah Bunting,” Matthew said, smiling at the woman, “How lovely it is to see you here.”

 

“I must admit,” Sarah said, her voice haughty, “I’m surprised to see you here.”

 

“Are you?” Matthew said, “I know it has been a while since I’ve seen a show. Mary, this is Sarah Bunting, she’s was a friend of Lavinia’s and she’s quite an activist. Sarah, have I introduced you to my girlfriend, Mary?”

 

Sarah rolled her eyes, “She’s the reason for my surprise. I wouldn’t have thought you’d have moved on from Lavinia so quickly.”

 

_Did people actually say thing like this in real life?_

 

Mary watched Matthew cringe, “It’s been a year, Sarah. I’m not saying that it’s perfect.” He turned to Mary and brushed his hand through her hair. It felt so good. “But Mary’s helping me deal with it.”

 

“She is?” Sarah asked, incredulously. “Mary Crawley? I couldn’t believe it when I saw it online yesterday. That you actually were seeing her. I thought it might be a fluke or something. But this is real, isn’t it?”

 

Mary gritted her teeth. She knew this could be it. This woman might provoke Matthew. It was going well so far. But this was Lavinia’s friend and she was going right for his weak spots. She wouldn’t blame him. Lavinia had been his fiancée. His loyalty for her reached deeper than it ever would for Mary and she knew it. What if Sarah’s comments made him reveal the truth about their relationship? The whole thing could be ruined.

 

“Lavinia was the sweetest, nicest woman. And you are replacing her with Mary Crawley? Have you no self respect?” Sarah said, “Haven’t you seen what she’s done? What she did to poor Mabel Lane Fox? She’s the reason that she and Tony are getting a divorce.”

 

Mary felt her eyes prickle. Why did she have to bring up Tony? He was still an open wound. But Mary couldn’t bring herself to change the subject, to interrupt. Instead, she squeezed Matthew’s hand- hoping that it would give him strength to handle this situation.

 

Or maybe it was to tell him that he could throw it all away. There was no way Matthew would defend her to Lavinia’s friend. It wasn’t even right to ask that of him. Maybe she should just tell Sarah the truth of their relationship and save Matthew the shame. He’d probably still get the charity money if she was the one that ruined it.

 

“I adore Mary,” Matthew said firmly, and Mary blinked up at him in absolute surprised, “We’ve only just gotten together and we are new. But for the first time in a year, I’m not thinking about the horrors that happened last year. Mary is making things better. So I’ll excuse you to not comment on my girlfriend and her personal life. I’d think someone as intelligent and informed as you, Sarah, would know better than to take celebrity gossip websites seriously.”

 

Sarah turned her nose up and fixed her bag, before saying tightly, “It was nice to see you, Matthew. I hope you enjoyed the show.”

 

They watched Sarah walk way, before Matthew turned back to her.

 

“Are you okay?” Matthew asked, brushing a hand over her hair in a calming way again.

 

Mary’s throat felt tight, but she nodded.

 

“Come,” Matthew said, tugging gently on her hand, “Let’s get out of here before TMZ shows up.”

 

When the got out into the chilly evening air, Matthew moved his hand to her back. The cold air helped keep her from crying. She took a few breaths. She studied Matthew’s face. It looked equally worn. That confrontation had taken a toll on them both.

 

She could see people outside the theater taking out their phones to snap pictures of them. She didn’t want pictures of them like this- upset, frayed.

 

“Let’s keep walking okay,” She said, steering them down the street. “There is just so many cameras back there and I don’t think either of us need that right now.”

 

“Are you okay?” He asked her again, his thumb brushing the back of her hand.

 

“I just really hate people mentioning Tony,” Mary muttered, still a little choked up, “And just people like that in general.”

 

“Are you okay?” She asked him back.

 

He gulped, “This is just what I was afraid of going into this. That it would somehow discredit Lavinia’s memory to take up with someone else for money.”

 

They were at the corner now. They crossed the street to where a small green area was, taking a seat on a bench within it.

 

“Is that how you feel?” Mary asked, lightly.

 

“I did, at first,” Matthew admitted.

 

Mary sniffled. Now that they were safe in the dark, cameras seemingly gone, she could let the tears fall. All the emotions were coming out. She had been so afraid it was all going to fall apart. She had been so hurt by Sarah. She should be used to this sort of thing by now, she really should, but it still stung.

 

“But,” Matthew said, wrapping an arm around Mary, “I realized shortly into this endeavor that life hasn’t been quite fair to you. That someone, even someone as rich as a Crawley, might deserve help too. I don’t know what the real story is, Mary, of what happened in Bali, or that elevator in London, or whatever silly story that the papers have printed about you. But I know that you deserve more than what people are saying about you.”

 

She tried not to think about how right it felt with him there, how familiar and easy his touch was. She let her headrest on his shoulder.

 

“Thank you for that,” She whispered, “Truly.”

 

They sat in silence for a few moments. Mary’s sniffles giving way to comfortable silence.

 

“I can’t tell you all of it now,” She admitted, “Not yet. Maybe once we are closer.”

 

“It’s okay,” Matthew reassured her, “I’m not asking you to.”

 

“We’re both a bit of mess, aren’t we?” Mary asked, a tremor a laugh in voice.

 

“That we are,” Matthew said.

 

It was all a mess. Mary didn’t want to feel comforted here, sitting with Matthew. She wanted desperately to resent him. It would make it all easier. If she knew it was all fake, it wouldn’t be difficult to breeze through the next few weeks.

 

But was this fake? Were his comforting words now made up? Was he standing up for her because he cared for her or because he was getting paid to?

 

Because if her feelings were real, that meant that she could get hurt. She’d been hurt time after time this year. She knew she wouldn’t survive it again.

 

Did any of her feelings matter in the end? Of course they didn’t, they never did. Like she had told him the day before, they were both in too deep. They had to see this through for both their sakes.

 

“I’m going to ask for the car,” Mary murmured, taking her phone from her purse to text the driver.

 

She lifted her head from his shoulder, “Thank you for the tickets. The play was really brilliant. I’m sorry for the part at the end with Sarah, but that doesn’t take away how truly amazing the show was. I’m glad we went.”

 

“I am too,” Matthew said, “I’m sure I’ll be singing those songs for the next few weeks.”

 

Mary smiled, sniffling away the last of her tears, “Me too. Speaking of, the next few weeks, that is- would you like to come visit me in Paris?”

 

Matthew cocked his head and smiled. Her father must have told him that was coming, so he was prepared for it.

 

“I would like that very much, Mary,” He said, his voice sounded earnest.

 

“Good,” She said, smiling, “Because I’ve already bought the tickets. I hope you don’t mind. You fly out on Friday.”

 

“That’s awfully generous of you,” He said.

 

“Think nothing of it,” she said.

 

He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “On the contrary, I plan to think of you often this week.”

 

She wanted it to be true. She wanted him to actually, truly think that. And she hated herself for that.

 

The car pulled up in front of them.

 

“That’s our ride,” She said.

 

Then in a blink of an eye they were creeping down New York streets, making their way back to their homes, their lives, their own worlds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading! Reviews would be spectacular- I always love hearing your thoughts! :)


	5. Chapter 5: Getaway to Paris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! This week is so crazy for me, but I wanted to post a chapter today because it is Karine's birthday. She is such a gem and sends me the nicest messages after every chapter and tells me about her food adventures in Paris (which I'm always jealous of).
> 
> This chapter is one of my favorites in the whole fic so far (and I've written up to Chapter 10). I'm sure most of you know that I studied in Paris last year and I love it so much- so it was so so much fun to write about my favorite Paris locals. It was also a little tricky because last year when I was living in Paris I was on a very limited student budget, so my experience in Paris is quite different that what modern Mary Crawley's must be. Because of that I put in a lot of time figuring out what her apartment would look like. If you visit my tumblr and check out the TMBTM bonus features section, there is a link to what I imagine Mary's apartment looking like (or you can use your imagination).
> 
> Okay, sorry for so many notes, I hope you enjoy this chapter! I loved writing it :)

Chapter 5: Phase Five- Getaway in Paris

Mary definitely didn't have to greet Matthew at the airport. She didn't when her family visited or even Anna. Technically, they all knew where Mary lived and visited frequently enough that would seem laughable to go to such lengths to welcome them to Paris.

But, it seemed Matthew was different. She told herself that it would look good if a photographer happened to capture her greeting her sweetheart at the airport. In reality, she knew the reason behind it was much more complex than that.

So she was at Charles de Gaulle at the crack of dawn, far earlier than she'd ever be awake otherwise. She had worn a soft grey dress, with long sleeves- perfect for late April in Paris. She had a scarf to go with it and a pair of black flats. It was casual, but slightly nicer than she would ordinarily wear for something so informal at this time in the morning. She had a wristlet, black leather, self designed, dangling off her wrist.

Matthew's flight was still a bit away from landing when she got to the airport, so she'd gotten a café au lait and a croissant to eat as she waited in the arrivals area. The airport was so crowded and busy that she seemed to slipping from everyone's notice.

She pulled out her phone and scrolled through some headlines. People seemed to have posted a lot about her and Matthew in the last week. There were covert shots of them walking with William in Central Park. Luckily, no one caught pictures of Matthew's moment of panic and Mary was grateful for that. She, herself, had posted a picture of the tickets and program from the musical they saw on Instagram with a comment, " _Thank you Matthew_Crawley and the cast for such an incredible night at the theater_." That seemed to spread quickly across the internet. If anyone was questioning if Mary and Matthew were really together- they weren't anymore. There were articles speculating about how they got together so quickly. If maybe Mary had been seeing Matthew while she was ruining the Foyle-Lane Fox marriage. Or if Matthew had lost all of his morals when he was infected with the tropical disease. Mary was offended for Matthew about that one. She was just starting to read another vaguely presumptuous article, "5 Reasons Mary and Matthew are Going to Be Married by the End of Summer," when a voice interrupted her.

"Hello there," He said, and she looked up to see Matthew. He looked like something marvelous. His golden hair was almost glowing in the morning light. He looked a bit rumpled, his striped shirt creased from the trip and his eyes squinty from jet lag. But all the same, Mary felt herself falling a little bit harder with every moment she looked at him.

"Darling," She said, brightly, springing to her feet and hugging him. He rested his head on top of hers and she found herself letting out a sigh. It felt so right for him to be here.

"You must be exhausted," She said, "Let's go back to my place. You can get a shower and nap."

"That sounds lovely," He said, placing his hand on the small of her back as they made their way to the car.

They walked through the labyrinth of the airport, following sign after sign till they finally burst into the fresh air and early morning sunshine of the car pick up area. Mary inquired about his flight, "long, but comfortable," and the progress he'd made at work that week, "slow, but fulfilling." As she surveyed the line of vehicles looking for her driver, he asked about her and she filled him in on rift she'd gotten in with another designer, one she used to work with, who couldn't believe that Mary Crawley could actually run her own business. Typical.

"I'm quite sure if people underestimate me anymore they'll finally look more foolish me," Mary remarked, as they got into her car.

There was space between them in the car. Mary wondered if maybe she had imagined it all. Maybe in her head she'd over dramatized the events of earlier in the week. Maybe he wasn't falling for her, maybe he was just as good at acting as she was.

They made their way onto the peripherie and Mary was about to explain her apartment to Matthew, when she looked over, she saw him dozing. She smiled to herself and let her own eyes flutter. She wasn't sleeping per say, but she wasn't entirely conscious either.

When she opened her eyes again, they were in the middle of St-Germain-de-Pres. She smiled to herself- home. She then reached over to brush Matthew's arm.

"Matthew, we're very close," She whispered, as he blinked awake rather adorably.

He let out a little grunt and gave a yawn. "That was so fast," He muttered.

"More like forty minutes," She laughed, "You've been out for a bit."

"I dislike jetlag," Matthew said, "It always makes you a bit loopy."

Mary nodded, knowing that all too well. "Let's get you a nap and a shower," she said, "Then you'll be all sorted."

The car pulled to a stop in front of her building. The driver helped gather Matthew's luggage from the boot and they headed into the apartment building.

They stepped into the lift. It was a bit old, but it worked none-the-less. It arrived at her place and they walked out and took a few steps to her door. It opened to reveal her large space.

Mary's apartment was one of her favorite places in the world. For an old apartment in one of the oldest parts of Paris, it was fantastically modern. The door opened to a large open space with three huge windows that cascaded light on nice days, and made for a snuggly place to sit with a mug of coffee and a novel on darker ones. Beneath the first window was the sitting area. Here she had a sleek white sofa and another bright blue one. The color was vibrant against the ancient, natural wall. Underneath the next window was a simple chaise lounge covered in pillows. The kitchen and dining area found their home under the third window. Her own bedroom was in the loft above.

She looked back at Matthew, excited to watch his eyes take in the room. But when she looked back, he was simply struggling to keep them open.

"Here," she said, softly, placing her hand lightly on his to make sure he wasn't going to fall asleep standing up, "You'll have the whole downstairs to yourself."

She led him down a flight a stairs, careful that he wasn't going to trip over his own feet on the walk down. There was a table and chairs and a small living area at the foot of the stairs, but she led him past them to his room.

There was a low lying double bed with a white duvet. It was a nice, small dark space. Mary was fond of it. Sybil and Anna stayed there often when they visited.

"There is an en-suite there," she said, pointing at the adjoining bathroom, "But don't fuss too much over anything now. You need a good, long nap."

He nodded lazily as he slumped onto the bed.

"I'll be upstairs if you need me," she said, before turning to head back up.

She was fully intending on going up to the lofted part of the apartment, where her desk was. It was a Friday and Mary normally did work from home instead of at the atelier then. But today, she was so sleepy herself. Waking up at 6AM to greet Matthew had exhausted her. She figured if she didn't have a short nap, she would get nothing done.

So she instead settled on chaise lounge and wrapped herself in an old grey wool blanket. She lifted her phone and was able to start reading, "Actress Sarah Bunting on Mary and Matthew: 'Lavinia Never Would Have Wanted This.'" But before she could listen to herself be ripped to shreds again, her own eyes slumped closed and she let go into a much needed nap.

* * *

 

Matthew woke up in what almost felt like a cave. There were cool stonewalls and dim light, but he felt warmly snug under the thick white duvet. He had no clue where he was.

It took him a minute to place where he was.

Mary's. Of course.

He slunk out of bed, no longer afraid of being attacked by some sort cave dwelling animal. He founded the en-suite just as Mary had described. He turned the shower as hot as it got and he shuffled in.

As the water slowly woke him, he let his thoughts turn to Mary. He thought about how bright and happy she had looked to see him at the airport. Was she merely putting on airs? Was there some camera there waiting to take a picture of their reunion that he didn't know about? Or was she really that genuinely happy to see him? Everything seemed blurry for them. Where was the line between acting and reality? Was there one?

Matthew figured that they would soon find out. While they had previously only been together in public places, this was the first time that they would be together in private. Would that change things?

He wondered if he would go upstairs to find the surly woman from the elevator on their first date or the complex, but thoughtful woman he'd known since. There was only one way to find out.

He turned off the shower and stepped out. He toweled off and headed into his room to find his suitcase. He pulled out a pair of jeans and a button up shirt. He paused to brush his teeth and run a comb through his damp hair, before venturing upstairs.

When he crested the top step, the first thing he noticed was that late afternoon sun was shining into the large open first floor of Mary's apartment. He then noticed that Mary was stirring on the chaise lounge directly across from him.

"Oh, Matthew," She said, her voice thick with sleep, "Sorry, I think I dozed off when you did."

"That's no bother," Matthew said, "I think we all deserve more rest in our lives."

Mary smiled thoughtfully, "Maybe that's true."

She was sitting up slowly. Her cheek was creased with the pattern of the chaise lounge. Her hair was sticking up and her dress was stuck to her other places. She blinked a few times, clearly a bit out of sorts.

"What time is it?" She asked.

Matthew felt for his phone, but realized he'd left it downstairs. He glanced towards the kitchen and noticed the clock reading 16:34 over the oven.

"Four thirty," He said.

Mary shook her head, "Sorry, that was much longer that I planned to sleep. Are you hungry?"

Matthew thought about it and realized he was. He nodded.

"Well my mother has hired for a photographer to take a bunch of pictures of us gallivanting around Paris tomorrow, but tonight is up to us," she explained, as she ran a hand through her hair.

"What shall we do then?" Matthew asked, his voice soft. He was wondering how this went. How were they when the camera's were off?

"I'm going to take a shower and change," Mary explained, "Then we can maybe get some food, drink the by the Seine, or quelque'chose comme ça."

Matthew nodded. It sounded good if Mary wanted to spend time with him, even if she was sleep addled.

"I like that," He agreed.

"Good," Mary said, smiling delicately, "I'll be right back. Just hang out here. There is a TV over there. And snacks over in the kitchen if you are really hungry."

She stood and headed up to the loft. Matthew decided to go find his phone. He trotted back downstairs. Mary had left the wifi password on one of the tables in the entry. When he retrieved he phone he went back and added it, watching his phone fill with e-mails, as he slid onto one of the sofas.

Mary's apartment was a true curiosity to him. He had expected her to have the sort of plush, boutique cliché apartment that he had seen in every Parisian movie. But her space was more modern, more minimalistic. Mary had clearly hand picked each detail of the space. She had an eye for those sorts of things, which was probably why she was faring so well in the handbag business. He wondered how she had come to acquire the unique apartment.

He scrolled through his e-mails, checked a few other social apps, but then heard the sound of Mary moving around upstairs, so he moved back up to the main floor.

She was dressed leggings that hit her mid calf and a white flowey shirt. She was rummaging in the kitchen.

"Perfect," she said, her face lighting up, "There you are."

Matthew felt a shiver go through him, hardly able to believe she was so delighted to see him.

"I'm just grabbing some nice red wine and a corkscrew," she explained, "What do you say to grabbing some falafel and wandering around?"

"That sounds marvelous," He remarked.

"Good," Mary said, tossing a bottle of wine into her large tote. She looked up before explaining, "In case you worried, the wine goes in a different section than Daisy does, so she won't get hurt."

Matthew laughed and they headed out the door.

Paris was alive in the evening. They wandered down the Boulevard St. Germain. The streets were full of couples mingling, business people heading home from work, and groups of kids out with their friends. The city seemed to breath with the arrival of the weekend.

"Paris gets a bit batty around this time of year," Mary was explaining, "They have this notion that every weekend is some sort of bank holiday, so there are constantly people jetting off for little vacations."

They turned at the Boulevard St. Michel and headed towards the Seine. There was the iconic fountain, tiny tourist restaurants, and a smattering of bookshops. They turned again and Matthew tried not let his jaw drop at the fact that Cathedrale de Notre Dame was right in front of them. He'd seen it before, but it was so very massive that he felt a thrill just looking at it. When Matthew admitted he'd never actually had time to go inside, Mary dragged him in.

"It's free you know, and it hardly takes time to peak in and out," she explained.

He continued to let his eyes take in the details of the cathedral. The rose windows were magical. But perhaps, most magical of all was Mary. She looked angelic, with the foggy, dim air of the cathedral surrounding her, her white blouse floating around her as she led the way. Matthew was falling hard, and though Paris was wonderful, that wasn't what he was falling for.

They went from Notre Dame across a bridge into a neighborhood Mary called the Marais. "It started out as the area for misfits of Paris- gays, Jews, but now it's become one of the chicest parts of the city." They stopped at a falafel stand, which was on a block of falafel stands, and despite having the longest line, Mary insisted it was the best.

Ten minutes later, when they were sitting in a small garden-park a few blocks away, munching on the tangy chickpea concoction, Matthew decided he agreed.

He talked about the progress his new charity was making as they walked to the Ile-St-Louis. They stopped for ice cream at a small shop, which had without a doubt, the best ice cream of his life. He watched Mary adoringly as she ate frambois-à-la-rose from her cone. He had to fight the urge to lick it off her lips himself.

He wondered, as they crossed the bridge back to the Ile-de-la-Cité, a street performer cheesily playing La Vie en Rose, if he would ever kiss Mary. He figured that had to be part of it right. They couldn't pretend to be dating for four months and never kiss in public. When would that happen? Would it come as an e-mail from Robert Crawley, CEO? He could imagine it totally- " _Dear Matthew, Please kiss Mary. Let me know if you have an questions or concerns…_ "

He didn't want that. He realized in a sudden, sweeping moment that he wanted Mary to know he cared for her. He needed to tell her. How or when or what- he wasn't sure. But he knew that she need to hear the words from his mouth before her father could tell him to say it, before he felt pressure from a lurking pap to drop words. It had to happen.

Just then, as these thoughts swirled so powerfully in his head, Mary took his hand and rested her head on his shoulder. He let out a sigh. She was so perfect here in the moment, the sunlight and the ice cream and the music. He wanted to melt from the overwhelming feeling of it all.

But then they were on the other side of the bridge and the moment had slipped through his fingers before he grasp it. Mary was chatting about how she had discovered the ice cream parlor.

"My best friend Anna was visiting me. I was doing my year abroad in Paris and she was doing her's in Rome," Mary was babbling. He loved to listen to her babble, "She and Giovanni had just their first big break up and Anna was completely heart broken. So we got her some Berthillion therapy."

"Seems like excellent therapy. What of Giovanni?" Matthew asked.

"They were back together before she was back in Rome," Mary explained, "They spun circles around each other for ages before they got together. First one problem, then another. But they were meant to be, so they found their way back together. Sometimes, I think those sorts of romances are the best. What is the fun if it easy?"

Matthew wondered if she was implying something about them. So he asked instead about her sister, "Is that how Sybil and Larry were?"

Mary shook her head, "Everything comes easy for Sybil. Larry was speaking at her university. She came up to him after and asked him a few more questions about running for office so young. He suggested that they get coffee to discuss it in more detail. Eight months later they were engaged."

"And you don't approve?" Matthew said, following her tone.

"She's so young," Mary said hesitantly, "I want her to have all the happiness. But she's twenty-one. Her last boyfriend was in middle school. How is she supposed to know what she wants for the rest of her life?"

Matthew bit his lip, "It's hard, isn't it? You want her to make her own decisions, but you are pretty sure she's making the wrong one."

"Exactly," Mary said.

They were crossing over to the left bank again.

"Come lets, go in Shakespeare and Co," Mary said, leading to a green façaded bookshop that he remembered seeing in a Woody Allen movie and maybe a couple other places.

"It's kinda of touristy," Mary admitted, as they crossed the street, "but I have a secret weakness for it."

The bookshop was warm and packed tightly with people. The building seemed old and every inch of it was covered in books or displays. Around him, people chatted in English and French, and a smattering of other languages. He could see people flipping through books, perusing through the winding shelves for tomes. The entrance was filled with displays of books on modernists.

"This is where the whole lost generation gang hung out," Mary explained, "I rather like the idea of this group of creatives all feeling a little bit lost, but very much alive in Paris."

Matthew smiled at Mary's musing. It was beautiful.

They wandered farther into the shop. They paused in front of another display.

"The Mirror by Edith Crawley," Matthew murmured. "Have you read it?"

"I have," Mary confessed, "I would be a pretty awful sister if I hadn't. It's very good."

Matthew turned it over in his hands. "My mother keeps raving about it, but I can't bring myself to crack the spine."

Mary raised her eyebrows in question.

"The whole fiancé dying young thing," Matthew whispered, tightly, "It- it hits a bit too close to home."

Mary put a delicate hand on his arm. He felt a rush of comfort, but also complexity. Whenever he thought about Lavinia, how she died, his guilt- he felt full on confusion. He wasn't sure Mary deserved someone like him. He wasn't sure Lavinia deserved to ever be replaced. His thoughts of telling Mary his feelings fluttered away. He wasn't ready to tell her if he hadn't sorted them out himself.

"You look rather glum," Mary said, drawing him from his reverie. "Let's go booze."

They went back outside, leaving the warmth of the bookstore and headed toward the Seine. They took steps to sit down by its side. Matthew looked up in awe at the fact that they sat here drinking when Notre Dame loomed over the Seine. You could see the profile of it perfectly- the top of the towers to the elegant arches of the buttresses.

"What about Edith, then?" He asked, "Do approve of her situation?"

"I don't know of it," Mary explained, taking a seat on the quayside. "I assume she lives on her own. She could have some sort boyfriend, or girlfriend really, that's how much I know about her. Just text messages in a crisis and she'll pop into town for a holiday, but then pop away as soon as she gets there," Mary rambled.

She shrugged as she took out the bottle of wine and uncorked it.

"Why don't you visit her?" Matthew asked.

"Sybil used to," Mary said, "but then she sort of stopped. Edith says she likes it better that way. She doesn't want to be associated with us and I don't blame her."

She paused, holding the open bottle before, "Oh shit. I've forgotten cups. We'll just have to drink from the bottle. It'll be fine. We have to kiss in the photo shoot tomorrow, so we might as well get used to exchanging germs."

Matthew froze. There the answer he was waiting for. They would kiss tomorrow. That meant that even if he wanted to kiss Mary on his own, he had to do it before tomorrow. Even if he wasn't ready for it, he was going to miss any chance to show her how he felt.

Mary's eyes searched his face, trying to read his emotion. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry. It was mentioning germs. Did it spook you?"

She put the wine bottle down and put a hand on his face, preparing to calm him.

"No, Mary, it's fine," He said, taking her hand from his cheek, putting a light kiss on it, before giving it back to her.

"Are you sure you are okay?" She asked, tentatively.

Matthew shook his head and nodded, "I'll be fine. Don't worry over me."

"Well I will be seeing quite a bit of you of you for the next few months, I am your fake girlfriend," Mary laughed, "Don't mind me if I worry over you. All good fake girlfriends do it."

The word _fake_ hit him in the stomach. Maybe it was better to not say a thing to her. Maybe she wanted to keep things this way. She was being kind to him sure, but did that mean she had feelings for him? Matthew had flip-flopped his thoughts so much in the last two hours, he hardly knew what to think.

He grabbed the wine bottle and took several large gulps.

"Careful there," she said, her hand on his, easing it from his grasp, "that is rather nice wine. Not that I can't afford another bottle of it, but it is the sort of thing that is meant to be savored."

They fell into amicable silence. They passed the bottle between them, enjoying the fine wine, the spring breeze, and the boats floating past. At some point Mary put the bottle down and leaned over to rest her head on Matthew's knees, pressing her back against his chest. Without thinking, he let his hand card through her hair.

"Wine makes me so sleepy," Mary hummed.

Her voice sounded melodic. Paris felt a little fuzzy with so much wine, but Paris seemed like the sort of place you wanted to be a little fuzzy. Maybe that was how Mary stayed in love with it.

"We should head back," She said, minutes, decades, sometime later.

They rose from their spot. Matthew helped her up, and they started making their way back up to the street level. Mary took his hand, leaning on him.

The wandered back down the Boulevard St. Martin. Matthew was prepared to turn at the Boulevard St. Germain, but Mary pressed them forward.

"Let's stop by the Luxembourg before we got home," she suggested, "It's still nice out and we've a bit of time before I completely fall asleep."

"Lead the way," Matthew said, still reveling at how gorgeous Mary looked as her blouse swirled around her in the evening sun.

They walked past a bunch of teen clothing stores, as Mary explained that this where a lot of lycées and universities were. She pointed out the Sorbonne. "You have heard of that, yes?" She asked, as Matthew rolled his eyes. There were lots of little food shops, some Parisian ones with long baguette sandwiches and other more familiar fast food joints. "That's where I go when I miss the English home comforts," Mary nodded at Marks and Spencer grocery store.

"Here we are," Mary announced as they crossed the street to the park. "Have you been before?"

"The Luxembourg Gardens?" Matthew replied, "No never."

"They are really lovely," Mary told him as they went into the park.

The wandered through a gate into a lane lined with trees. There were people mingling around, some sitting on benches, others on chairs. Ahead, Matthew could see a massive fountain with people sitting around it. Faintly, he could hear a choir singing.

"Oh look," Mary said softly, "Sometimes in the evening on the weekend they have little concerts here."

They walked over to the gazebo that was acting as a bandstand for the choir there. The choir was singing a song so heartbreakingly beautiful, it stilled him. Both sorrowful, but brimming with sweetness. Matthew recognized it at once. A different place, a different time, a different him.

"It's Rutter," Matthew muttered.

"The Lord is my Shepherd, from his Requim, right?" Mary replied.

"How did you know?" Matthew asked, his mouth opening in gentle awe.

"I sang it as a schoolgirl," Mary explained, blushing, "I used to be in the school choir."

"You sang?" Matthew asked softly.

Mary shrugged, with a little grin, "Oh Matthew darling, I think you are forgetting that I am the daughter of Cora Levin, one-hit-wonder."

Matthew let out a small chuckle. The space seemed sacred with the beautiful music surrounding them. The sun was just beginning to set and Mary looked radiant in it's dying light.

"How do you know it?" Mary asked.

Matthew bowed his head, the space between them becoming serious; "A choir sang it at my father's funeral."

"Oh Matthew," Mary said, reaching out to hug him.

Her thin arms wrapped him, curling up his back. He let his own arms settle low on her back, his head ducking to nestle into her neck.

He couldn't take it anymore. _He had to kiss her_. To kiss her here, where the beautiful music swirled around them. Where the sunset made her glow like a cherub herself. Where the air smelled sweet and he knew her lips would taste of wine and ice cream.

So he did.

He lifted his head from her shoulder to angle his face into a kiss. Her eyes were closed as if expecting it. Her lips however, remained still for a moment in surprise.

Matthew was afraid that he made the wrong move. But then, a second later, they were moving against his. Her lips were small and delicate. He worried that his own might be crushing hers, but her arms moved up his face, to run through his hair, before settling on his cheeks.

He pulled back to meet her eyes. Her face wore a smile. She seemed happy. God, he hoped she was happy with him.

"Mary," He said, "I want you to know that I'm doing this now. Not tomorrow when the camera man tells us to, or when your father will write me an e-mail telling me to orchestrate a dramatic moment- But here and now because I am choosing to. Because I am choosing you."

Mary said nothing in reply, settling her own head back into his neck into a hug. Matthew figured that wasn't a negative response, but wasn't entirely sure it was positive.

The song gave way to the final movement in the requim. They listened to the rest of the concert in each other's arms this way. Matthew's arms resting on her lower back, his fingers slowly finding their way under her shirt to make small circles on her hips. He pressed kisses into her raven locks as the show went on.

When the concert ended, the musicians made their way into the crowd to be greeted by friends. The sun was lower now, nearly dark. Around them the audience was stirring, the whimsical magic of the moment fading.

"We should go back," Mary whispered, "Tomorrow will be a long day."

They walked back to her apartment, his arm around her back, Mary's head resting on his shoulder. It felt so real. He had kissed her. It was real. They were real.

They reached her apartment, taking the lift back up to her floor. He still marveled at its eclectic elegance. The space was darker now without the streams of sunshine to fill the room with light.

"I'm going to bed," Mary announced, as she hung up her bag and took Daisy out. "You should too. Tomorrow is going to be draining."

Matthew nodded, watching Mary ascend the stairs to the lofted area. He assumed that it truly would be draining. If Cora Levin was sending a photographer, it would without doubt, be full on.

"Oh and Matthew?" Mary said, turning towards him with a smile.

Was she going to mention the kiss? Her feelings? His heart fluttered in anticipation of what she had turned around to say.

Mary hesitated for a moment before saying, "Make sure to dress nicely. These photos will be seen everywhere."

Matthew nodded again, as he watched Mary disappear above, wondering just what had happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I am so grateful for every review I've gotten so far and I can't wait to hear what you think of this chapter!
> 
> (And before you mention "wow that was so easy how they got together- why isn't there more angst first?"- there is loads of angst coming in the next chapter. Because I agree, that was a little too easy. Just you wait friends.)


	6. Chapter 6: Phase 6- Press Shoot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey pals! Sorry for no update in so long. I was doing things like finish my thesis, writing my English capstone and other final papers, saying good-bye to my friends, and then graduating from my dream university. I know a lot you were eager for an update- but schoolwork and friends always come before writing. I've no plans for the summer, so I'm hoping to start updating and writing more regularly than the last few months have been.
> 
> Also, while I've written nearly 50,000 words of this story so far, that doesn't mean that all those words are polished and ready to be read. I like working ahead so that I have the freedom to rearrange or edit scenes with a view of the long term path this work will take. For example, there was a scene I really liked from this chapter that wasn't working, so I moved it up to chapter 9 instead. Working ahead gives me the ability to have a better birds-eye view of the work! 
> 
> Anyway, as promised last time, lots of angst this week. Sorry not sorry. Enjoy!

Mary opened her eyes to see sunlight flooding in from the crack between her curtains and instantly wanted to shut them. She was not ready to face today.

Just what happened last night? She thought, as she got out of bed to open her curtains. Her thoughts skimmed over their joyful reunion in the airport, their wanderings around the Marais and the Quartier Latin, their shared bottle of wine on the Seine, and then the Luxembourg. The memories of the garden at sunset, the Rutter Requim floating around them, warm arms around her back, and the lovely way Matthew's lips moved with hers. It had been everything she wanted.

She certainly had been leading him on to it. Her father's advice had indeed played a role at the beginning. Make him fall in love with you. But she knew that by the end of their date in Central Park, her father's advice had fallen away to her own feelings. She liked Matthew. She really did. He was smart. He cared about the world. And it seemed, despite the first disastrous date, he cared a lot about her.

So why was there a weird churning in her stomach when she thought of it all?

Because it could all be a lie. What if her father had sent him the very same e-mail? The thought kept her up at night. He could be playing her. It wouldn't be the first. Tony's betrayal still felt she was being stabbed when she thought of it. She couldn't do it again. She couldn't get her heart broken for a third time this year.

She had stayed silent after he kissed her, afraid to say anything back- because how could she? How could she tell him how badly she had been hurt? By Duke, by Kemal, by Tony. How could she tell him that she couldn't be hurt like that again? She couldn't make him promise to never leave her, to never hurt her- no one could promise that, really. She wanted to trust him, to adore him, but the fact remained he hardly knew her. He didn't know the secrets behind her headlines. How could he ever love her?

But today she couldn't bother with it. Regardless of how she felt, today her job was to be a puppet. She was to smile and dote on Matthew and be a model of perfect, young love. She felt exhausted from the demand already, but she had no choice. Sometimes she wondered if she really had that many choices in the first place.

She dressed for the day. A short, vintage pink dress, that was the sort of thing you see on an old postcard from Paris. Her mother had sent it to her earlier in the week and insisted she wear it in the shoot. She was just happy that her mother hadn't insisted on sending a full hair and make up crew. She grabbed a pair of nude heels and a beige handbag from her closet, assessing her look in her full-length mirror. Feeling decently dressed, she spritzed herself with perfume, added some pearls, and headed downstairs.

Matthew wasn't around yet, though she heard the shower running below and she knew that he would be coming up soon. She popped out to the boulangerie on the street below to grab some pain au chocolat. When she arrived back in her apartment, Matthew was seated in the living room, flicking through his phone.

"Good morning," She said, putting the bag of pastries down on the kitchen counter. "I'm making a cappuccino. Would you like one?"

Matthew nodded and came to sit at a stool by the counter. She watched him fish a pastry out of the bag.

"Mary," He said, "About last night-"

Her stomach lurched. She couldn't talk about this now, not before they would be spending a long day staging the most romantic afternoon in Paris possible.

"Not now, Matthew," She cut him off, "We'll talk of it later."

"But-" He began.

Mary shook her head, cutting him off, "The photographer will be here at half 9. I expect he'll have plenty of stuff for us today, so we best start making sure we're ready."

A half hour later, after a mostly silent breakfast, Mary and Matthew were greeting the photographer at the door.

"Premièrement, la tour eiffel, " the photographer declared, as they were ushered in the car. There were would be no wistful strolls through the city today, just business. They would be packing in as many cliché Parisian sights as possible, to create the ideal array of photos.

It wasn't a long drive from St. Germain-de-Pres to Trocadero, especially in the morning. They passed bistros just setting up for the day, servers writing out the specials on the board outside. There were people walking by with little dogs, bouquets of flowers, and baguettes. Paris was waking up.

"Good, it's not terribly crowded," Mary remarked, as they made their way out onto the white stone plaza. She had worried Trocadero would be busy on a Saturday, but in the early morning, it was manageable.

The photographer found the perfect angle for their Eiffel Tower shot and set them up for it. He placed their hands and tilted their faces for a series of shots. A small crowd began to gather around them, the professional photographer causing them to notice that it was Mary Crawley and her new boyfriend being photographed.

"Maintenait, uh," The photographer said, turning to Matthew, his English choppy, but clear, "Now, uh, put her in dip and give her the kiss."

Matthew's arms wrapped around her and pulled her into an old movie style dip, his lips on top of hers.

She was glad he had kissed her the night before, or else she would have been blown away now. It was still the sort of kiss that made her feel like melting, but at least now she was prepared. She didn't want him to stop. When she was kissing him like this, her worries over her feelings for him, her fear of betrayal, were all far away. For a tiny moment, everything was safe. Not just safe, also brimming excitement and anticipation. Like her whole life was coming together, lighting up all at once, like hope.

"Bon, et maintenait, le Champs Elysées," the photographer directed.

Mary sighed as Matthew pulled her back up, squeezing her hand as they made their way back to the car. It was lost and she was back into her world doubt.

The rest of the day continued like that. They were pictured feeding each other macarons from Ladurée in front of the Arc de Triumph. They looked out at the city from the towers of Notre Dame. They posed on the steps of Sacre Coeur, then moments later over a staged lunch in Montmartre. For the afternoon they took an excursion to Versailles. They were photographed sharing an ice cream in front of a fountain, then laying side by side on a blanket looking up at the clouds, and then again with the pair holding hands beneath an archway.

It was nearly seven at night when they returned to Mary's apartment, both of them exhausted from smiling and holding poses. Mary dropped of her purse, took out Daisy, and then collapsed on her sofa. She balanced the rabbit on her chest, while she crossed her ankles and propped them up on the arm.

"I'm completely exhausted," Mary said.

Matthew slumped down on the other sofa.

"I could definitely say the same," He agreed.

"When do you fly back tomorrow?" Mary asked.

"I'm actually going to be doing business in Geneva for the week," Matthew said, "So I'll be taking the TGV Lyria at noon tomorrow."

"So, we'll have to get you there a hair early so you'll have time get on comfortably," Mary mused, "It'll be best to have you there at 11, to be safe."

"That sounds fair," Matthew mentioned.

She really wanted to change into her pajamas and order in food. She wanted to watch a movie with him, maybe snuggle, maybe make out. She wanted a quiet night in. But if they paused for just one moment, Matthew would to ask about last night, ask about her feelings- and she wasn't ready for that. She couldn't let them stand still for a moment.

"As for tonight," Mary said, "What do you say to a final small jaunt across town?"

"What are you thinking?" Matthew asked.

"You'll see," Mary said, "I'm going to change out of this dress. I'll be back in a moment. Can you hold Daisy?"

She left Matthew in the living room and headed up to her loft. She changed into a comfortable pair of leggings, a tank top, and a large maroon cardigan. She grabbed her sunglasses and a floppy black hat, before heading back down.

"I've texted for the car," Mary said, "He'll be here in a moment."

Matthew passed her Daisy back. She kissed the tiny bunny, thankful for her calming presence, before adding her to her purse.

"Car's here," Mary said, as they headed down the stairs.

They piled back in.

"Le BNF, s'il vous plait," Mary requested, as they headed eastward.

"Isn't that the national library?" Matthew asked perplexed.

"It is," Mary replied.

"I know we both enjoy literature, Mary, but I'm not sure you need to impress me with a library. I already fully believe in your intelligence," Matthew said, "I'm far more interested in dinner prospects."

"Funny," Mary said, "That's what we are going to."

When the familiar towers of the BNF came into view, the driver pulled over and let them out.

"Thanks," Mary said, to the driver, "Be back in an hour or so?"

She took Matthew's hand, hoping that he wouldn't become too attached. She led him over to the small square outside the library.

"Here," She said, "Will this suffice for dinner?"

The square was filled with different food trucks: burgers, tacos, thai, indian, and crepes.

"This is brilliant, Mary," Matthew said in awe. "How do you know about this?"

"When I did my exchange here, I took a few classes at the university down the street," Mary explained, "I took my literature courses there and then the design classes at a different university. But I'd come here with friends for lunch when we couldn't agree on what we wanted."

They mingled into the food stands. Mary grabbed some pad thai, while Matthew got a burger.

"Come this way," Mary said, softly.

She led him towards the library complex. It was made up of four L-shaped towers which surrounded a wooden walk way. In the center of the walk way was a small forest.

"I rather like that," Matthew commented, "A forest in the middle of a library, in Paris, no less."

"It's is a bit of a strange place," Mary explained, "It actually costs money to get into the library, which seems rather pretentious, even to a Crawley. There is a rather good movie theater here though. I sometimes nip if there is something that I want to covertly see."

As they turned through the platform, the Seine came into view.

"I thought it might be nice to sit here," Mary offered, "It's not really the pretty part of the Seine, mostly the industrial part."

"I like it," Matthew said, "Secret forest, secret Seine."

He looked up at her, his face bright, shining with hope. His voice was a little softer now.

"And a secret Mary. Thank you for these past few days. Thank you for sharing the secret, real Mary with me."

Everything inside her broke a little, her voice catching in her throat. She couldn't reply. She couldn't say anything to that. Because the second she opened her mouth, she was going to break his heard.

Mary pursed her lips firmly closed. She gracefully lowered herself so that she was sitting on one of the large steps that lead up the BNF. Matthew plopped down beside her. They started eating in silence, both of them ravenous after the long of day of photos.

"Mary, we should talk," Matthew started.

The sun was setting over Seine and Mary knew that this conversation was going to happen. She could try to keep it from happening, but they needed to discuss what they were.

But she couldn't, she wasn't ready. Because being undefined was safe. She couldn't get hurt. The second there was a label, she became vulnerable.

"Mary, I like you quite a bit," Matthew said, "I know that this is supposed to be fake. I know that we both are dealing with a lot. I know that I've only known you a few days, but I don't want you to think that I'm just doing this because your father is paying me- I'm with you because I care about you."

Mary put a noodle in her mouth and chewed. Then sighed, put her chopsticks into her pad thai, and put her carton down. She took her hat off and ran a hand through her hair.

"Matthew, you don't know me," She said.

"But that doesn't mean-"

This was so hard. But she had to.

"A week ago, you were so quick to judge me because of some headlines you believed, and now you're in love with me?" Mary said.

"I didn't say that exactly," Matthew pointed out.

"Matthew, I've gotten my heart broken three times this year. I can't-" She broke off because she crying.

She wanted Matthew. She wanted this. But she couldn't. She couldn't tell him about the way that each man who came before him destroyed her. She couldn't tell him that she couldn't survive it again.

So she just started crying.

Matthew put down his food to put his arm around her. Mary wanted to shake it off, but she let it stay.

"Mary, I know you don't think that you matter," Matthew whispered, "I know that you think that you are a puppet to the whims of your parents, a photo splashed across the tabloids-but you aren't. You are a sensitive, thoughtful, real woman that I happen to think matters a great deal."

She couldn't lift her eyes to meet him.

If she did, she knew that she would tell him the truth. She'd tell him that she wanted to try this for real too. That no one had ever told her those things before. That she was starting to trust him.

Because it was just that- she was starting to trust him and she couldn't. She couldn't go down that road.

"Matthew, I can't."

Dammit. She was supposed to be making him fall in love with her. She wasn't supposed to be breaking his heart.

"I know that you feel the same way," Matthew said, "You haven't been shy for physical affection. You've been positively flirting with me. We have sincere conversations. Mary, I don't understand."

Then with a sob, she let the truth float out of her mouth.

"You deserve better than me, Matthew."

"No, Mary, no-"

"You deserve better than a washed up reality television star who is struggling to make it as a handbag designer because no one will take her seriously. You should have someone you are proud to be with, not someone who you have to be bribed to date- and even then you are still ashamed to be with."

"I'm not ashamed, Mary," Matthew said, his voice rising with feeling,"Maybe I judged you at first, but I was stupid to do so. I regret it."

"There are so many people out there who would be able to help you more than I can. That are better than I am. You could meet some young activist or maybe another actress like Lavinia," Mary muttered, "But you'd be better off without me."

"Mary-"

"When these four months are over, we'll go our separate ways. Sure people might bring up our relationship an interview down the road, maybe when you start dating for real again or if you get married, but you will be able to go back to your life," Mary said, "and if I'm lucky, if this works, maybe I'll have some sort of life of my own."

"You can't be serious," Matthew remarked.

"But I am," Mary declared, "Don't you see, it's better for both of us. If you love me, if you leave me- I won't come back from it. If I touch your reputation for longer than these four months- you won't come back from it. We are safer this way."

Mary let out a huge sigh, all her words finally out. She'd said each painful and honest thought that floated around in her head since he kissed her. Sure, he might resent him now for it. But in the end, they would be happier for it.

She reached for her pad thai. Food always tasted funny after you'd been sobbing. Sort of muted, with the after taste of sniffles and sadness.

And the sad sort of feeling that the food wouldn't sustain the emptiness inside you now.

It's better for us both, Mary told her self firmly. She might feel empty, but it was better than ruining things for them both.

"So what are we now?" Matthew asked, her voice resigned.

"Fake lovers, naturally," Mary told him, "Friends, I hope."

"No," Matthew said firmly.

Mary looked up in shock. Matthew was gritting his teeth.

"I can't be friends with you Mary," He said, letting his voice become harsh, letting it hurt her, "I don't know how I am supposed to be your friend. Not after this. I will pretend to be your boyfriend in front of the crowds, but I can't behind the scenes."

Mary gulped. This was hard. But it would hurt more down the road right? It would hurt much more if it was August, if she was in love with him, when this happened. This was less painful. Right?

"I see," Mary let herself choke out. "Let's go back now, shall we?"

She stood, folding the lid on her carton of thai, most of it remaining uneaten, and tossing it into a waste bin. She led the way back through the courtyard, back to the Avenue de France, where the car had dropped them off. The sun was low in the sky. It was nearly dark. The towers of the BNF seemed shadowy around them.

The car was waiting when they got there and they got in wordlessly. Mary put her head against the window, her sniffles ringing out embarrassingly through the car.

She wondered what it would be like if she had been born as anyone else. If her father wasn't a billionaire CEO and her mother hadn't released a chart topper in the eighties. If she had grown up sheltered and safe instead in the glaring public eye. If her father had never said yes to the reality show. If anything different had happened- she might have been able to love Matthew Crawley.

She could picture it in her head, how it would look like, if she was an ordinary 26 year old woman. She might meet Matthew at a bar in New York when she was visiting Sybil, or maybe bump into him in Paris when he would be here on business. He'd initially think her a bit vapid for being a fashion designer, but her knowledge of French literature and suave wit would surely win him over. They'd go on normal dates- bumbling through awkward coffee shop conversations or feigning intellectual thoughts on art at visits to museums. She could picture their engagement. She thought Matthew might be the type for a nice dinner and popping the question. But he was rather romantic, maybe he'd take her back to the place they met, or the Eiffel Tower, or someplace exotic and pull out a ring. They'd have a normal wedding, not a society affair, no press. Just a simple gown of her own design, two rings, and smiles.

But Mary could never have that. She couldn't burden Matthew with her reputation. She couldn't burden herself with the pain of the possibility of heartbreak. It was never meant to be.

She watched the familiar sites creep into view: Les Deux Margots, L'Eglise de St. Germain. The car slowed and they got out.

"I'm really tired," Mary confessed, as they made their way to her apartment, "I'm going straight to bed."

Matthew nodded, still not speaking to her.

"I'll go with you to the station tomorrow," Mary said, "I'll meet you tomorrow at half nine."

"You don't have to," Matthew said, his voice empty.

"No, I should see you off," Mary justified, "Even if we aren't friends, I'm not one to be rude."

"Right," Matthew said flatly, "Good night Mary."

She turned on her heel and headed up to her loft. She kicked off her shoes, took Daisy out of her purse and placed her on the bed, and then let herself collapse in it beside her. She could hear Matthew retreating downstairs, so she knew it was safe to let her sobs fall out again.

She didn't want to get hurt. She didn't want to need him. But as she laid her bed, the sticky feeling of her tears against her pillow, she realized that in trying to prevent him from hurting her, in trying to save his career- she was only making things more painful, more disastrous.

It was too late. She was hurt now. She did have feeling for him. And there was no coming back from them. Except that now it was too late.

Matthew was surprised to find Mary in the kitchen the next morning when he climbed the stairs to her main floor. She was in the kitchen, fiddling with the espresso maker. Her hair was pulled into a high ponytail, revealing full view of the perfect bone structure of her face and her elegant long neck.

No- he had to stop doing that. He couldn't notice her like that now. Nothing was every going to happen between them, so he needed to lose those thoughts as soon as he could. He needed to not think about how nice she looked in the early morning sun with her jeans and light pink t-shirt, thin enough that he could just see the outline of her bra through. He needed to not notice the way Mary had matched her lipstick to the color of her shirt- even when casual she was meticulous about details. He needed to not gaze at the way her simple golden necklace dress attention to sharp lines of her collarbones. If Mary didn't want to seriously be in a relationship with him, he couldn't let himself have feelings for her. He couldn't let himself take in her physical beauty. He had to cut himself off.

She looked up at him when he approached the counter. She placed a cappuccino in front of him.

"I got a few different pastries than yesterday," Mary murmured, nudging the bag to him, "If you want to try something new."

He reached for the bag, peering in at the variety. He tried to decide between a long pastry filled with chocolate chips and another with an apple filling. For a moment he was touched by her thoughtfulness.

Stop, He told himself, pulling himself from his warm thoughts. He wasn't letting himself go there. He pushed the bag away, telling himself he'd buy breakfast on the train.

"I'm going to finish packing up," He declared, rising from his seat before he had hardly sat in it, leaving the cappuccino untouched. He decided that removing himself from her presence was the only way to prevent himself continuously falling in love with her. "Let me know when it's time to go."

He could see Mary roll her eyes briefly, but he didn't care. He went back downstairs and carefully folded his clothes back into his suitcase. He was a neat man. Nicely folded vestments, organized suitcases, clean spaces always provided him comfort. It was almost cathartic to pack now. It helped him block out how immensely wounded he felt. He couldn't even talk to Mary with out feeling an obscure, but painful mix of hurt and adoration. This was going to be a long four months.

He took his suitcase back upstairs with him to find Mary gone, so he resorted to sulking on her sofa, both dreading and eager for her return.

At half nine, Mary descended from the upstairs and helped usher him to the car. They rode in silence again, which seemed to become the "new" normal thing for them. He didn't know what else to say. He wanted to apologize. He wanted Mary to apologize. He wanted them to slip back into the comfortable friendship and flirting that had possessed them just a day ago. But he was paralyzed with pain. He couldn't say what needed to be said to change it.

They got to the train station. Matthew got out of the car and Mary followed.

"I'm fine from here," He said to her, "You don't have to see me off."

Mary gulped and nodded.

"Look I'm sorry," she began, "I didn't mean to offend you or make you uncomfortable. I didn't mean to ruin our friendship- I just can't-"

Matthew shook his head and bit his lip, trying to hold it back. But he couldn't.

"Mary, you aren't the only person who has been hurt before," He said, his own pain lacing his words.

She nodded, again, her head still forward.

"A year ago, my fiancée died of a really horrible disease," Matthew said, reliving the past, watching it dance before his eyes, "It was all my fault. I've just started figuring out how to live with that. How to live with that pain. But I was willing to open myself to the risk of falling for you, to whatever risk you might pose to my reputation, to whatever being with you might bring. I was willing to open myself up to all of that for you. Why can't you do that too?"

He watched tears form in Mary's eyes again.

"Matthew, don't you see? Didn't you listen to me last night? It's better for both of us this way," Mary said, her voice clearly trying to hold back sobs.

"I don't understand you, Mary," Matthew said.

Mary shuttered out a sob, "I know Matthew, I know. You don't understand me. And that is the reason for all of this."

He looked at her, trying to reason out how she could do this. How she could destroy the easy trust they'd work so hard to find in each over the past week? How she could hurt him while she lamented being hurt herself?

She sniffled, "You should go. You are going to miss your train if you wait longer. Next weekend is the Cannes Film Festival. I'm going and I'm expecting you to be there. My father will arrange the tickets and e-mail you the details."

Of course the Crawley's already had the next phase planned out. He had been planning on going home to New York the next weekend. He was already missing his mother and William. But now it appeared he would be staying in Europe a week longer.

"Well good-bye, Mary," He said, putting a hand on his suitcase that the driver had gotten out for him.

She was glancing over her shoulder to where a few giggling girls had their iPhones out, taking pictures of them.

"Crap, do you think they saw me crying?" Mary asked.

"Maybe they'll think that it's because you will miss me too much," Matthew suggested.

He watched her pause for a moment, thinking through the situation, before she launched herself at him. Her lips were on his and it still felt like coming home. He didn't wanted to cherish this feeling, her warmth, but he did. He knew it was just acting. It was just for the cameras, but he relished her kiss none-the-less. And he hated himself for it.

"Good bye, Matthew," She said, as she pulled away, offering him a tiny smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out some pictures and coverage from the Cannes Festival (going on right now) if you want to get excited for the next chapters :)


	7. Chapter 7: Phase 7- Crawleys Take Cannes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so flattered and pleased that people continue to read this story! I was at the Cannes Film Festival last spring when I began to think up some faint ideas that would eventually turn into this fic. The whole time I was there, I could just imagine Mary and Matthew staying in the fancy hotels, walking along the Croisette, and mingling among the rich and famous. In this chapter (and the next), I loved getting to turn those imaginings into writing :)

Chapter 7: Phase Seven- Crawleys Take Cannes

"Ah yes, Mr. Crawley, you'll be with Ms. Crawley in the Suite de Oliviers," said the man at the desk. "François will take you up there."

A man instantly sprung to his side to take his bags. Matthew had stayed in many nice hotels for business (something he thought was rather excessive for a humanitarian organization, but essentially had no say in), but this hotel was a different level of luxury. The whole thing was rather extravagant. It was evident from the small army of photographers camped outside that it must be one of the nicest hotels along La Croisette. The lobby matched that impression with its golden columns and Greek sculptures.

He followed François to the lift and rode up to the floor. There were few doors on the floor, evidence of exclusivity of this floor. François led him to a door and opened it for him. On entering, he could head distant voices from somewhere in the suite.

"I think that Ms. Crawley is on the terrace with friends," François explained, his voice thick with a southern French accent, "I will show you around the suite and then take you to her."

Despite it being a inordinately large suite, there was a single bedroom in it. Matthew was confused at first. Maybe Mary was truly pissed at him and decided he was sleeping on a couch (Not there was a lack of couches- Matthew discovered in the multiple living rooms in the suite).

Then it hit him, even though his relationship with Mary was chaotic, even though they hadn't spoken all week, even though he was dreading facing her right now- the rest of the world was to know none of it. There was a single bed because of course they were sharing a bed. Of course they were in love. Of course they were sleeping together.

François left Matthew bags in the bedroom and led Matthew out to the terrace. It was large. There was a Jacuzzi and a row of lounge chairs. There was a table covered in food, Mediterranean salads and French appetizers, and drinks, white wine and several colorful cocktails. Beyond that were a few sofas and chairs that looked out over La Croisette. There were probably ten or so people scattered across the terrace. He recognized a few- Sybil and a man who must be her fiancé if he remembered the campaign commercials right, there were other actors and musicians he seemed to recall having seen on TV before. He blinked into the sunshine and looked around to figure out where Mary was.

"Matthew," Mary's bright voice exclaimed, so entirely different than how it had sounded the last time they were together. She was springing up from one of the couches at the other end. He took a few steps in her direction, but she crossed the space quickly to get to him.

His eyes couldn't resist taking in how beautiful she was. She was dressed in a black bikini, her skin still wet from evidently using the Jacuzzi recently. She had a white sheer cover up draped around herself, but it still allowed him to take in more details of Mary's body than he had before. Her hair hung in loose waves around her face, a huge grin plastered on her face as she greeted him.

She reached up to him and pulled him into a deep kiss, her tongue teasing his, her hands sliding into his hair. He could taste a fruity cocktail on her lips and realized that now the tables were turned from their first date. Mary was the one who had a little too much drink. But that didn't change the fact that he felt the same uncomfortable tension between them that he felt on their first date- acting like lovers, with a secret bitterness underpinning it all. This was going to be a difficult weekend.

"I have a spread out for luncheon," Mary said, her voice a little too loud and positive, "Grab some food and a drink and then I'll introduce you to everyone who matters in the world."

She waited for him to take a few nibbles of the delicacies and take one of the cocktails set out for him, before she tucked his arm under hers and sauntered towards the line of lounge chairs where Sybil and her fiancé were sharing one.

"You've met Sybil, haven't you?" Mary asked, cheerfully.

Her sister sprung up from the lounger to greet Matthew.

"We met rather briefly," Sybil said, giving Matthew a kiss on the cheek, "Just before your first date. Who'd have thought that you'd end up here with us so quickly? I'm so happy you are, though. Right, Larry?"

"Hmm?" Said the man below on the chair, rising to stand next to Sybil and shake Matthew's hand. The man gave off the sort of slimy politician vibe, "Oh very happy you are together. It's rather fun to have both the Crawley sisters with political men."

"I'm not quite sure I'd call what I do political," Matthew mumbled, as he liked to think it was more human rights work than politics, but he supposed it could be thought of that way.

"I mean the UN is almost as inefficient as us in Congress are," Larry laughed.

"We'll see you tonight," Mary said, pulling Matthew away from the awkward encounter. He was beginning to see why Mary was so disapproving of Sybil's marriage, but she seemed to be handling it smoothly in public.

She led him over to the hot tub where she introduced him to Jack Ross, the well-known rapper, Evelyn Napier, an English actor known for playing quirky heartthrobs, and a ginger haired girl named Gwen, who was Sybil's best friend from university. Sybil had brought Gwen along as part of the traditional post-graduation trip to Europe.

They wandered over to couches by the edge of the terrace where two more couples were sitting looking out over the sea.

"This is my cousin Rose," Mary introduced, him to the familiar looking woman with blond curls, "She's an actress herself."

Matthew recalled seeing her in a few films before, mostly chick-flicks that he had watched with Lavinia.

"She's actually in a film at the festival," Mary explained, "We'll be going to see it tomorrow night."

"I look forward to it," Matthew said.

"And this is my boyfriend, Atticus," Rose introduced.

Matthew took in man sitting beside Mary's cousin. He felt a jolt of recognition. Of course he knew who this man was, he had been on the cover of the magazine he read on his flight here. Matthew had been following his career for the last five years.

"Atticus Aldrige?" Matthew managed to choke out, "The tennis player?"

"Careful," Mary laughed, "Matthew might ask for your autograph."

He kissed Mary's cheek and squeezed her hand, trying to make things seem teasing and happy.

"Do you play?" Atticus asked.

"Just a bit with my mate Tom," Matthew explained.

"Have you plans for tomorrow morning?" Atticus asked, "I've got to hit a bit just to stay in shape. Are you up for it?"

"Me?" Matthew gasped.

"It won't be too hard," Atticus promised, "Just a bit of sport to keep my stamina up. I shouldn't really be taking the weekend off, but I couldn't miss Rosie's film. My coach offered to come with me, but I didn't want a hair of focus to be on me- just Rose."

Matthew was floored not just to be standing in front of his tennis hero, but to have just been invited to play with him. Atticus seemed terribly nice and the whole situation of him meeting seemed surreal.

"That'd be brilliant," Matthew sputtered.

"Perfect. Shall we meet in the lobby at half ten tomorrow morning?" Atticus suggested, taking out his iPhone to add it to his calendar.

"I've tickets to go see Atticus play at the French Open in a week or two, you should come Matthew. And as always the whole family is going to watch him at Wimbledon next month," Mary added.

"This is splendid," Matthew enthused.

He felt rather dumb to have not had realized it. Matthew knew that Atticus Aldrige was dating Rose MacClare. He should have known that Rose was Mary's cousin, but they had different last names and Mary hadn't mentioned her. The Crawleys seemed always full of surprises.

"Thanks Mary," Atticus said, "I look forward to it."

Matthew felt rather giddy at the idea that he was suddenly friends with his tennis idol. He felt bad for acting like a teenage fangirl in sight of her celebrity crush, but he couldn't hide his excitement.

"And this is my best friend Anna," Mary introduced, pointing the petit blond woman, "She lives in Italy with her husband, Giovanni." Mary nodded at the man sitting beside Anna, who seemed a bit older than Anna, but the look between them was nothing but pure adoration.

"It's so delightful to meet you Matthew," Anna said, her voice genuine, "Mary has told me so many lovely things about you. I'm so happy to be seeing you in person."

Matthew recalled Tom mentioning that Mary had told her best friend about their arrangement. He assumed that Anna was said friend, because she seemed to be sitting in Mary's immediate circle, in a way that the other actors weren't. Plus, Anna was the only friend he'd heard stories about. But if she did know, she wasn't letting on in the least.

The three sofas were arranged around a small table, with the couch in the middle having the best view of the Riviera. This, of course, was Mary's couch. Mary's life had seemed so humble and down-to-earth in Paris, but today she was in all her splendor. Which wasn't helping anything.

She was settling on said couch, pulling Matthew down on it beside her. She draped her exquisite bare legs over his lap, leaning back on her arms, her head back to take in the sun. He gritted his teeth to not react to it. She was positively alluring with so much skin showing. She was a little drunk and a little (fake) flirty. This was not going to end well.

Rose and Anna started debating the merits of the Italian Riviera in comparison to the French one. Matthew let his eyes take in the masterpiece that was Cannes. He'd been driven straight from the airport to the hotel, so he'd not much time to take in the surroundings. Now, he could truly take it in- and it was stunning. There were mountains framing the coast, the in-between filled with perfect, glittering blue water and a beach covered in private beaches, each of them marked with distinct umbrellas. The long promenade of La Croisette lined the beach, full of people walking up and down, some in casual clothes and others dressed to the nines.

"Have you been to Cannes before?" Rose asked.

"No, I've actually never been to the South of France before," Matthew explained.

"Not to worry," Anna said, "I'd never been either until I became friends with Mary. Though Giovanni here has been working to convince me that the Italian Riviera is better. Not that I mind, I'll take as much free beach as I can get."

Matthew was slowly placing the fact that Anna, while pretty, happy, and successful, was not nearly as wealthy or famous as Mary was. She was quite normal actually.

"The festival is really exciting," Anna kept rambling, launching into a story of her trip when she accidentally stepped on Michael Caine's foot and how they'd had a lovely conversation after.

While she rambled, Mary angled closer to Matthew, resting her forehead on his shoulder gently. He naturally felt his arm wrap around her. He pressed a little kiss into her hair.

He hated this. He hated faking it with her. How could they be so tender and natural around each other in front her friends, in public, but so disjointed, such coldness in reality? Especially when there had been, just for those few days, such warmth between them.

Mary's eyes flickered close.

"Don't fall asleep darling," He whispered in her ear.

Mary blinked them open, drowsily.

"Hmmm?" Mary murmurmed, "Me sleeping at my own party? I couldn't dream of it."

"Clever," He whispered back, give her a tiny squeeze closer.

She put a kiss on his neck, "God, I can't wait till they all leave and we can be alone."

Matthew felt a wave of lust pass through him. Did Mary really mean that? Had she possibly changed her mind about them?

"I heard that," Rose remarked.

Then he snapped out of it. No, she was just acting, of course. To everyone here they were a new couple, full of teenage-esque desire and endless passion. Mary would say these things to convince them.

"Well, I'll actually make that easier for you, dear cousin," Rose said, "I've a press thing that I'm actually off to."

Rose and Atticus stood. Mary rose to press a kiss to their cheeks.

"See you tomorrow night," Mary bid them.

"Well, see you tomorrow morning," Atticus said to Matthew, as he rose to shake their hands before leaving.

"I look forward to it," Matthew agreed.

Not long after the couple made their way off the terrace, the party began to slow. The guests in the hot tub bid their goodbyes. Gwen headed off to take a nap, as she wasn't yet used to the time change. Anna and Giovanni went off to do a spot of shopping. Suddenly the terrace contained just him and Mary, and Larry and Sybil.

"Well America is just waking up now isn't it?" Larry said, looking at his watch. It was nearly two in the afternoon. "I should probably head to our room to do a bit of business. See you later Sybil."

Larry gave Sybil what Matthew could only describe as an "affectionate eyebrow wiggle" before he headed off the terrace as well.

Mary, who had been standing to say goodbye to her guests, collapsed onto one of the lounge chairs.

"Thank goodness they're all gone," Mary said dramatically.

"Aren't they your friends?" Matthew asked, sitting at her feet on the lounger.

"They are," Mary said, her voice sharp, "Which is why I hate lying to them and faking it with someone who won't even be my friend."

Matthew felt an icy feeling creep over the terrace. Whatever warmness had existed while they snuggled on the couch was lost in a second.

"Mary," Sybil gasped, "What even are you talking about?"

"We had a bit of a falling out last week," Matthew tried to explain.

"Yeah, that passionate display of kissing when Matthew arrived certainly looked like a falling out to me," Sybil snorted.

Mary sat up and rolled her eyes, "Sybil, let's go to the spa, shall we?"

Sybil shrugged, "I guess so."

Matthew supposed that she would be filling Sybil in on their gossip. He was surprised she didn't know already.

"Matthew, do whatever you like," Mary said, her voice flat, "As long as you don't hurt my reputation, I honestly don't care."

Matthew felt stung. A week ago, things had seemed so certain, but now- He replayed in his head all of it: their conversation on the steps of the BNF, their words in front of Gare de Lyon. How had they turned into this? She had been trying to protect his reputation, protect her heart. But now things seemed just as prickly as their first date. It was as if they took massive steps backwards.

As Matthew watched her walk away, he knew it was his fault. All she had wanted was to not get hurt. And what had he done? He had hurt her. He had told her they couldn't be friends. In a world where she probably felt like people only desired for sex and for scandal, he had probably made her feel like that was exactly what he wanted her for.

The worst thing was, he didn't know what to do to make it better. How could he traverse the chasm he created between them?

* * *

 

"I thought things were good between you," Sybil said, more question than statement, as they headed to the spa.

"They were," Mary said, with a sigh. "The first date was a disaster, obviously. But the second two were quite nice."

They approached the reception desk at the spa.

"Ah, the Crawley sisters," woman cooed, in an accented voice, "What can I helped you with today?"

Mary looked at Sybil who offered, "I could use a massage. I've been holding loads of tension in my shoulders"

"You don't even work," Mary pointed out, as the lady them a sheet of different massages to choose from.

"I'm still waiting to hear back about that yearlong internship in DC," Sybil said, "besides, wedding planning takes up so much time, I'm not sure I'd have time for it anyway."

Mary gave her sister a look, one Sybil had seen before. The sort of look that said, _you can't really be choosing a guy over your career._

"I don't even have that great of a chance at it," Sybil admitted.

"Sure you do," Mary answered, "You're the 'Crawley Sweetheart.' Everyone knows you for your charitable stuff you do."

"But that doesn't mean I'll get it," Sybil said, "Look at all the trouble you've had trying to get people to take you seriously."

"But I'm Mary Crawley and you're Sybil Crawley. There's a difference" Mary said, pointing at the massage she wanted, "You're going to get the job in DC."

"You are just trying to distract me from talking about you and Matthew," Sybil acknowledged, as she pointed out her selection.

Mary rolled her eyes as they walked into one of the changing rooms to don robes.

"So those second two dates?" Sybil prompted.

"They were wonderful," Mary said, as she shrugged off her swimsuit cover up, "He was clever, charming. He gets a touch jittery around medical things, but we've all got our things that give us those moments."

"So what went wrong? Was a he a prick when he came to Paris? He ruined the whole thing?" Sybil asked, pulling the belt of the robe tightly.

She checked to make sure her clothes were neatly folded on shelf before she followed Mary over to the massage area.

"No, I was," Mary explained, perching herself on a table.

"What?" Sybil said, puzzled, "I thought you were mad at him. Honestly Mary, just tell me what happened."

"He came to Paris and things were really good," Mary explained, rolling to lie on her stomach and bury her face in her hands, "We walked around, sat by the Seine, drank wine, and then made out in the Luxembourg Gardens."

"Mary!" Sybil shrieked, "You didn't!"

Mary propped herself up on her elbows and ran a hand through her hair.

"But it was too soon," Mary said, her voice softer now, "I don't know if I can open my heart again. And besides, Matthew deserves better than me."

"You've got to be kidding me," Sybil said.

"Bonjour madmoiselles," said the masseuse entering the room. The sisters quieted and settled on their own tables, the unfinished conversation suddenly abandoned.

* * *

 

It was early evening by the time Mary returned to her room. She had delayed it as much as possible, stopping to visit with friends (after all the hotel was packed with anyone who was anyone), making reservations for dinner, and solidifying arrangements with her hair and make up team for tomorrow's grand defile. Finally exhausting possible distractions, she returned to the room and found Matthew sitting at the table tapping at his computer.

"You know what they said about all work and no play," she remarked.

"Is that it?" Matthew said, looking up at her from over the silvery Macbook, "Do you think I'm dull?"

_I wish_ , Mary thought. If she thought he dull, if she didn't have the strong feelings she did have- this might be less painful. This whole plan- the "pretend to date Matthew Crawley" plan, and the "not actually date Matthew Crawley" plan- were both turning out to be disasters.

She couldn't even look at him right now without feeling like her heart was breaking.

_So much for not getting hurt_.

"We have dinner reservations in an hour," Mary said, her voice flat, "It's just downstairs, but it is a 2 Michelin star restaurant, so wear something nice."

She slipped into her room and then realized that Matthew's suitcases were in there. She opened the door back up and put them outside the door and closed it again. God, she was acting like a small child. She hated herself for it.

She showered and changed slowly. She had been vaguely intoxicated before, but it had faded now, replaced with a faint headache. She cringed in the light red dusting that she had gained from her hours in the sunshine on the terrace that morning. Her English skin was too fair to ever tan and evidently she hadn't put enough SPF on. She knew she would look laughable tomorrow and hoped that her make up people would be equipped to deal with it.

She put on a long and simple black dress and drew her hair half up and down. She added a glittering necklace, some nice perfume and make up, plopped Daisy into her handbag, and decided that it would fine for dinner.

By the time she finished, it was nearly time to go, so she checked her reflection in the mirror and headed to the living room area of their suite. It felt like their first date, her icy walls up. Matthew was standing there, looking sharp in his suit.

"Let's get this over with," Mary said, because that was safe, that would keep him away. Even though she wanted to say so many other things. "Just do what you did before," she directed as they took the elevator down.

"And what was that?" Matthew said, his voice tired.

"Just talk, about anything, I'll smile and nod," Mary told him.

Matthew let out a resigned sigh.

Dinner went on that way. He talked about his time at university, as they ate the first course of five, about the societies he belonged to and his course work. He spent his summer in Peru after his first year and Uganda after his second year, he explained as they ate another course. Those experiences had solidified how much he was interested in global health. It was as they made through course four and five that he detailed moving to New York and his mother coming with him. Mary smiled and nodded, making a face of sincerity. She hated it because she did care, she did think he was interesting. But here she was, pretending feigning mild interest.

It was too much. She couldn't sit here and pretend things were okay. She couldn't pretend that this plan was eating them both alive. She couldn't spend any more time thinking about the pain she was causing them both.

"I think I'm going to go back up," Mary murmured, "Too much rich food and I'm rather dizzy from it. You can stay, enjoy. They make a really lovely crème brulée here."

"No, darling, I'll go up with you," Matthew said kindly, putting his arm around her as they made their way back to the elevator.

They walked back to the room.

"I'm going to have a lie down," Mary explained, "Don't worry about me for the rest of the night."

Matthew looked like he was going to say something, but he didn't. Mary watched as he walked out onto the terrace and she let herself retreat into her room.

She changed out of her nice dress and into a silky camisole and a soft pair of sleep shorts. She paused to quickly to brush her teeth and wash the make up from her face, before she slunk under her covers, pulling them high over her head, letting the tears that threatened her all night pour out.

She did have feelings for Matthew. She could try to deny it or prevent herself from getting hurt, but it was all for not. She was trying to save them all from more pain, but it wasn't working. There was only so much hurt between now. Mary had ruined the only hope both of them had in their sad lives.

It was easier when sleep came. She slept fitfully, awaking in between with the crushing realization of her failure, but letting herself fall back to sleep and pretend nothing was real.

It was only when she woke up to find the clock reading, 3:30AM, that she heard the strangled moan from terrace. She sat bolt upright, her insecurity leaving her- Matthew.

She pulled her hair into a bun, as she ran, snatching her cell phone from a table. Her stomach curled as she worried what had happened. Had he fallen off? Tripped in the dark? In the short sprint to the terrace, she imagined endless horrible possibilities for him.

She pulled open and gaped at his form, which despite guaranteeing he was safe, managed to break her heart in a way she didn't know was possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the angst fest. If it makes you feel better, I promise the next chapter is one of my favorites. :) Have a wonderful holiday weekend and see you soon for Cannes Part Deux!


	8. Chapter 8: Phase 8- Chat on Bench

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Everyone! Thank you each and ever review/kudos- they mean so much to me. I really like this chapter and I'm hoping you will too. TW the Pamuk incident comes up in this chapter, so just keep an eye out for that.

Chapter 8: Phase Eight- Chat on the Bench

Mary ran across the terrace to the lounger where Matthew was had fallen asleep. His eyes were still closed, seemingly asleep, but he was thrashing and moaning as if trapped in a terror of his own kind.

All of her worries about where they stood, their romantic future, were slashed and replaced by a real horror for what might be happening.

She ran to his side, knowing there was probably some sort of protocol for dealing with things like this. Where were probably calming ways to wake someone in this state, but she didn't want to waste a minute looking them up on her phone, when what she wanted so desperately was to help him. She didn't want him stuck in this night terror for a moment longer.

She knelt beside him, taking his shoulders under her palms and shaking him. His shirt, still the one he wore at dinner, was damp with sweat.

"Matthew, Matthew, darling, please wake up," She said, trying to keep her voice from breaking, "Come back to me."

His breath came out in huge pants and he twisted under her hands, his voice calling out.

"Please darling," she said, shaking him more vigorously.

He took a few shaky but calmer breaths. She watched his eyes blink open and she let her own breath, which she hadn't been aware she was holding in until now.

"Lavinia?" He asked, between blinks, searching her face.

Her heart broke even more. One of her hands moved to run through his hair, slick with sweat. She took his hand with the other.

"Mary," She told him, lifting his hand to her heart.

Where had he been in his dream that he would mistake her for Lavinia?

She watched recognition flash over his face and he shook his head, trying to rid it of sleep, "No, of course, you're Mary. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she said, sitting beside him, her hands still working through his hair to sooth him. "Can I get you a glass of water?"

He nodded, "That would be good."

She quickly went into the kitchenette and filled a glass. She hurried back out to the terrace. Matthew was sitting up now, but had buried his face in his hands.

"Here you are," Mary said and Matthew looked up weakly. He took the glass and took a timid sip. She sat down hesitantly next to him.

"That's kind of you," He responded. "You can go back to bed now."

Mary felt her eyebrows crinkle in concern.

"No, Matthew, I'll stay up with you till you feel better," She told him.

"It's fine," He said, more forcefully than before, taking a huge gulp of water, before saying softer, "I can just watch Netflix to keep my mind off it. That's what I usually do."

Mary pictured him, alone in his own apartment, shaking in the night, trying to keep his mind off his terrors. She felt her eyes prickle at the thought. For someone who always seemed so together and so strong, he was carrying such heavy burdens secretly.

"Do these happen a lot?" Mary asked.

"Maybe once a week or so," Matthew said.

She couldn't imagine him going through this each week, so traumatized and hurt, of whatever he was dreaming of.

"Does anyone know?" She asked.

He gulped more water, before admitting, "No."

"Not even your mother?"

"Not even her. I wanted to tell her, but she worried so much about me when I was recovering from the illness, that I couldn't tell her," Matthew sighed, his face contorted with grief, "I couldn't tell her that I was broken and sick and damaged in a way that wouldn't be fixed."

Mary let her arms wrap Matthew's torso. He closed his eyes, as she rested her head on his shoulder.

"Oh Mary," He said, "I'm sorry for you having to see this. It's rather embarrassing."

"No," she said soothingly, the words surprising her as they poured forth, "Don't worry about it. I'm here for these things."

They stayed there for a moment more in silence, her arms still around him. She knew that she couldn't do it anymore. She couldn't protect them by denying her feelings. She couldn't draw lines between their real and fake relationship anymore. If they were going to get through this, it would have to be with support and love for each other.

"What do you say," Mary suggested, "You go take a shower, change into something more comfortable and we'll take a walk. Getting out of the hotel will help. No one will notice us at this time of night and we can probably see sunrise together."

Matthew smiled at her, wrapping his arm around her back to give her a little squeeze and nuzzle his head against hers.

"That sounds good," He said, turning to put a kiss in her hair before he got up, "Thank you, Mary."

She wasn't sure if he was thanking her for helping him through his episode, or for the opening of her heart.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, he was dressed in a flannel shirt and jeans. Mary was sitting in the living area. She had changed out of her pajamas, which Matthew found unfortunate. She had looked like a dream when she woke him from his nightmare- her dark hair spilling out of her bun, wisps on her pale shoulders, the dark straps of her silk camisole balancing on the tip of them. She had been simply angelic.

Now she was dressed in a floral thing, that wasn't quite a dress, and Matthew thought he might have heard it called a romper, but he didn't know much about women's clothing. She had a jean jacket over it. Her black handbag was draped over her shoulder and he could see Daisy twitching inside. She put on a pair of sunglasses and her black sunhat as they left the room.

"Here I got you this hat," Mary said giving him a rather hip looking hat and Rayband sunglasses, "And these glasses. You've been seen with me enough that people are going to start to recognize you. It's all well if we need that sort thing, but if we want a quiet moment between us, it's best to try to go incognito."

He put them on as they waited for the lift to arrive.

She took his hand in the elevator, leaning her head on his shoulder. He wasn't sure when the soft intimacy between them had returned, or the reason (though he suspected his nightmare had a lot to do with it), but he was happy for it. If it even meant a chance of her opening her heart, of removing the icy barrier they had both constructed from between them- it would be a true blessing.

They emerged into the lobby, which was nearly empty at 5am. There were a few people returning from late nights out, swaying on their feet as they trod across the marble floors. There were a few others with coffee cups and blurry eyes, likely grunts in the industry, already running errands for someone higher up. As they walked outside, he noticed it was the same. The paparazzi that had seemed to hound celebrities the day before were sparse in the wee hours of the morning, and Matthew was happy for it.

They walked along la Croisette, still dark in the inky early morning. He spotted a couple lying on the beach together, asleep under the stars. He squeezed Mary's hand and nodded at them. Her face wrinkled in uncertainty, before giving way to a laugh. They wandered past the main drag, past the glamorous marina, to a smaller park. It looked out over the sea, but it was totally empty. It was evidently less bourgeois than the Croisette was. There were a few fishermen leaving for the morning with rods in hand. An occasional runner or biker came by, but essentially they had the park to themselves.

They settled on a bench looking out over the Riviera. Matthew was sitting and Mary's legs were drapped over his lap, his arm curled to wrap around her side. She snuggled into him.

"So are you going to tell me what you were dreaming of," Mary prompted, taking off her hat to rest her head on his shoulder.

"Must I?" He frowned, biting at his lip.

"No," Mary said, "You honestly don't have to tell me anything. But if you want to, I'll listen."

He stayed silent for a few moments. The birds around them were waking up, singing into darkness.

He didn't want to tell her anything. She had hurt him. He had trusted her with his feelings and she had let him down. But maybe it wasn't that. Maybe it wasn't manipulation, but self-preservation. Wasn't that what he was trying to do now? By not being friends? Save himself from pain. It was so stupid. They weren't saving each other from any pain.

Trusting her with these secrets might be a start.

"Sometimes I dream of being ill," Matthew said. "Do you remember in Central Park a few weeks ago? When I got sort of dizzy?"

He paused his throat felt scratchy, as if a lump as stuck in it. It was so, so hard to talk about this.

"When I mentioned La Dame Aux Camelias?" Mary nodded, "I remember it."

"I'm not sure you know how much you know," Matthew said, "It was in the press a bit because Lavinia's career, so you must have heard scads, but I was quite sick. And so was Lavinia."

He took a deep breath and let a shaky one out.

"Hey," Mary said, her voice soft, "We don't have to talk about this if it is upsetting you."

"No, we should," Matthew said, "I haven't told anyone about all of this and I think I probably should."

"When I was nine, my father got very sick and died," Matthew began, "From then, I was terrified, if not haunted, by the idea of illness. I would spend hours up late at night, unable to sleep imagining all sorts of awful diseases that could happen to me. My mother enrolled me in therapy eventually, which helped. Eventually, maybe at the beginning of secondary school, I decided to become a doctor. It gave me sense of purpose, as if I could have control over this awful fear if I had control over sickness itself. But it turned out I was rubbish at science. I didn't have the marks to study medicine, but I was rather good at politics and government so I went after that instead."

"That's clever of you," Mary said, brushing a hand through his head. Her touch felt so good and he so desperately hoped she wouldn't retreat again. This tiny bit of hope was giving him the power to tell his awful story.

"So I tried to combat illness that way instead," Matthew explained, "I studied law, went into global health politics because I figured that way I could still have power over disease. I spent all my time off volunteering at clinics in the developing world. I don't have a medical background, but I'd try to help in whatever ways I could. It was all a way of managing this fear that I was always afraid would consume me if I didn't do everything I could to thwart it."

"Darling," Mary hushed, placing a kiss on a cheek. He realized in her kissing it that there had been a tear there. Mary truly was an angel.

"If I just kept working hard, it would all be fine," Matthew said, "That's what I told myself. When Lavinia came into my life, that didn't change. I fit her in during my crazy work schedule and she agreed to come on aid trips with me. It was lovely to be with someone who cared about the world as much as I do. I really truly loved her. She had a big heart and a beautiful voice and joyful smile. I was so lucky to have her."

He let out a sniffle. It was so terribly embarrassing to be crying in front of Mary, especially when he wasn't totally sure where they stood.

"So anyway, we both decided to take a holiday together," Matthew said, "We went to Burundi to help out at a clinic. The weather was warm, the there was lots of sunshine. It was a good trip and I was feeling more in control of my fears than ever. A few days into the trip, there were people coming into the clinic with some unique symptoms. I started doing research and working with doctors to figure out what it was and what sort of supplies WHO could get in to help. I wasn't really concerned about catching it- I've been vaccinated for practically every awful disease out there.

"But then I started feeling a little bit ill. I figured it was my body getting used to a new country or maybe too much heat and sunshine. I decided to take a day off to recuperate. I told Lavinia to enjoy the day and do something fun, but she insisted on taking care of me. She stayed snuggled up with me in our room all day. The second day, I got really bad, I started with this horrid fever and that's when everything goes really fuzzy. I heard later that I was flown to Atlanta. Lavinia was taken to Bethseda. I don't even remember when I saw her last. I just remember that I felt like I was dying, being attached to machines. When it finally abated, I found out that she was dead. And honestly I wanted to die too. I had utterly failed at the only thing I wanted to do with my life. I just wanted to keep people safe from disease and illness, but I had killed the woman I loved in doing it."

Matthew broke off, his voice so ridden with grief. Mary took face in her hands.

"It wasn't your fault," Mary said firmly, "You didn't know what was wrong."

"But I did," He said, shaking himself free of her hands, running his own through is hair. He hated to talk about this. "I killed her. It's my fault."

"No, you didn't," Mary said, "You can't do this to yourself."

"That's what my mother and Tom and Lavinia's father said," Matthew told her, "They all told me that they didn't blame me. So I pretend for them that I am okay. But I don't think I have forgiven myself."

"That's okay," Mary said, taking his hands in hers, "It takes a long time to get over something traumatic." Then in a softer voice, "Trust me, I know from experience."

Her hands were cold and felt soothing against his own. He sniffled again.

"What happened after?" Mary said, "The disease? Sorry to ask, if that is sensitive."

"Not much longer after I got sick, scientists figured out what it was and started a campaign to treat it. The outbreak was a huge concern, you probably heard about it on TV. I wasn't able to do that much for it because I was recovering. I took two months off of work. I had lost tons of weight and I was really weak," Matthew explained, "It's kind of funny. If you saw pictures of me before, I was rather doughy. I had this baby fat around my face. Lavinia and my mother would dote on it, but I was always a bit embarrassed by it. After the illness, it was all gone. Probably some metaphor about really growing up. I'm not sure. I've been working out a lot since then, thinking maybe that if I felt like I had control over my body, I'd feel like I had control over something. That I was still fighting disease. But the truth is, I haven't recovered. Some days are better than others. I still have these dreams. Even when I'm with you and I'm so happy, I have these dreams that I'm sick again and I'm trapped and I can't save Lavinia. It's like my mind is still sick from it. And I'm not sure if I can cure it."

"Oh Matthew," Mary said and he realized that she was crying with him, their bodies shaking together. "Recovery takes a really long time. If something affects you so profoundly and changes your life like that- of course it is going to disturb you for a long time."

There was knowingness to her voice that was both comforting, but also terrifying- _what had she been through?_ He prompted, "It sounds like you are speaking from experience?"

Mary sniffled and swallowed, he watched her struggle for words.

"Hey, you don't have to tell me," He said softly, now letting his hands stroke her hair.

"No," she said, brushing a tear from her face, "I told you the other day that you didn't understand me. It's not fair to tell you that we can't be together because you don't understand me, but not give you that chance."

"Mary," He said, pressing his forehead to the crown of her head, "It's okay."

"I want you to understand, Matthew," She said, her voice firmer now.

"I told you that very first date that I wanted to get to know the real Mary," Matthew told her, letting his voice trickle into her ear. "And I do. That hasn't changed."

"I don't really know where to start. Maybe with Carlisle? You know that TV host on Good Morning New York. I'm not really sure why I dated him really. I think I might have just been bored to be very honest. Well I dumped him and he's had this vendetta against me since, which is why the past few months of headlines have been particularly hideous."

"Mary," Matthew said, "Tom told me a long time ago that your headlines weren't true. And we talked about it a bit after Hamilton. You must know that I've never been judging you based on those."

Mary nodded, her head moving under his forehead.

"The first scandal was pretty tame," Mary said, "It was stupid what the press said, 'Mary Crawley turns Duke Gay' or whatever. The truth was that he just wanted to be with Thomas and we broke up. It happens. Whatever, we split on good terms. I'm not even upset about it.

"But God, Matthew, the second one, it fucking destroyed me."

"Oh Mary," He said back, his heartbreaking at the break her voice.

"That elevator and those pictures," Mary said, the words coming out in sob. He could hardly understand her, "I can hardly speak of it, really. Pamuk he- I never asked for that. I told him not to-"

"He assaulted you?" Matthew clarified, already anticipating the answer.

Mary nodded, tucking her head into his neck. He felt her wet, sloppy tears against his skin. He would give anything, do anything, to take this away from her. She was so kind, so smart, so beautiful. For anyone touch this lovely woman without permission, to take advantage or try to take gain from her- everything inside him shattered. He let both his arms wrap around her and held her tightly.

"So those pictures?" He asked, "Those were taken without your permission?"

She nodded into his neck. He couldn't stand it, that there were men sitting around in their basements oogling her, getting off to grainy images of her breasts. They didn't have the right. And he couldn't protect her from it. It was already happening and those pictures would never be gone. He was suddenly beginning to understand why Mary had been so guarded, why she had kept him at arms length even if she did have feelings for him.

"And then Tony," she said, her voice ragged.

"Mary, darling, you don't have to keep talking if this is hurting you. I'm sure I understand enough already," He said, running a hand up and down her back.

She shook her head, lifting her head to brush tears from her eyes, "So I went to Bali to try to recover from everything and escape the paparazzi and find some peace. I would call my therapist and meditate and hike in the woods and lie on the beach. It was beautiful and perfect. But Tony- Tony was the best part. He was so kind and he listened to me talk about my problems. He told me all these wonderful things and I really, really trusted him. So when one thing led to another, we slept together, and I was so happy because I felt like he was fixing everything that Pamuk broke. He never told me he was married. He never told me he was Lord Gillingham. He was just Tony. God I don't even know if I knew his last name. So when the pap caught us kissing and the news broke- everything in me shattered."

"Oh Mary, I'm so sorry," Matthew hushed, running his hand through the hair in the middle of her back, stroking soothingly.

"It was like he was the stitches holding me together and when he hurt me, it was like everything ripped," Mary confessed, "but then I was back in New York and my parents were setting me up with you. I hardly had time to breath before I was being pushed at another man."

"I'm so sorry," Matthew said, "I am so sorry that anyone failed to see you for the capable, intelligent, valuable woman that you are. I'm so sorry they saw you as less than the wonder you are, because Mary you are so so much more than those men will ever amount to. But you don't need me to say this. I hope you see the value that you are on your own. I hope so badly. God, I'm so sorry for all of it Mary."

"It's not your fault," She rasped.

"Then let me apologize for something that is. I'm sorry for everything I said about us not being friends. It's not fair that everyone has manipulated your life. This, our relationship, fake, real, whatever it is, that's up to you."

For a moment there was silence. Matthew wondered if Mary was thinking it over, calculating exactly what their relationship would be. The past moments had been sweet and he knew there was a softness between them. But Mary had been through so much, so recently- she couldn't just pack up her pain and start dating him. He had been callous to expect that of her.

"But that's the thing," Mary whispered, "I don't want to be friends either."

"It's okay, then," Matthew said, "We can just ignore each other and take pictures if-"

"No, Matthew, I don't want to be friends- because I want more than that," she said, her voice just over a whisper, "I really like you. You are really smart and you care so much about the world. I just- I've had trouble trusting people recently. And I'm sorry if you've been hurt by that."

"Don't apologize for that or anything, Mary," he said.

"I was keeping you away to keep us from getting hurt, my heart, your reputation," Mary admitted, "But I think if I've realized anything in the past few days, it's that it's hurting us so much more to do this."

"I agree," He said, kissing her forehead.

"And if anything we need, it's less pain in our lives," Mary admitted, "I'm not asking you to fix me. You can't do that. Tony couldn't. No one can fix our pain. But we can work through our hurt together. We can support each through it. And maybe that will be a start."

Matthew held her as tight as he could. She was so splendid, so thoughtful, so courageous.

"I like that a lot," He told her, loosening his arms to look at her.

She sniffled, her tears abating.

"You'll let you set the pace. I want you to feel safe. I want you to know you can trust me," Matthew said, "So you decide what's next."

"Thank you for that," she said.

She looked up at him, their eyes finally making full contact. She reached up to cup his cheek in her hand. Then finally she kissed him, the reply he had been longing for since they kissed in the Luxembourg Gardens. She did care for him. She had feelings for him. She was ready to try this. Even if it wasn't going to be perfect, even if they were going to be healing from unspeakable grief by each others sides, it was better than being apart.

"Thank you," He said, when she pulled away, her face still lingering close to his, her hand moving from his check and into his hair.

"Look," she said, nodding towards the riveria where dawn was peeking over the water, casting orange light over the water, "The sun is rising."

"It's rather lovely," He said.

"Incredibly so."

They stayed there, looking at the water, as the sun rose higher and higher. There was a peace between them had hadn't existed in so long and they both wanted to linger in- this feeling that everything would actually be alright. The park began to show more signs of movement- people out for morning jogs, bicycles weaving down paths, dogs out for before work walks. No matter how long they wanted to stay there, the world around them was awakening.

"We should go," She said, "People are going to start noticing us and it will make our day so much complicated. Besides, I think I want to rest a little bit, I know I'm going to have a long afternoon getting ready and tonight will be quite long."

"I've got to meet Atticus for tennis at 10:30," He explained, "So if we head back now, I'll be able to maybe sleep for a couple of hours first."

"Let's do that then," She said, placing her hat on her head. She stood up and offered her hand him. He took it and stood, walking back towards the hotel.

It was nearly 7AM and the Croisette was now milling with industry people. There were filming equipment being lugged around, random men in suits walking with a purpose, and the occasional familiar famous face headed to an interview.

They went back up to their suite, keeping their hats and sunglasses on until they reached their own space.

"Mary," He said, "I'm going to take quick nap. I'll just be on the couch here."

"Nonsense," she said, not letting go of his hand and tugging him towards the bedroom, "Come sleep in the bed."

He was wordless as he followed her into the room. She collapsed on the bed, not bothering to change. He sat on the edge of the bed, wondering what to do. She tugged on his hand again. He pushed his shoes off of his feet and swung his legs around to lay beside her. She reach out and pulled him close.

He felt his body curve around hers, ignoring the weird discomfort of lying on a bed in his clothes, with no blanket, in the early morning. But sleep was already tugging at the corner of his eyes, pulling him under. He fell asleep to the smell of Mary's shampoo and the quiet comfort of her warmth under his arms. He had a weird certainty that there would be no nightmares during that small nap.

* * *

Mary woke up to late morning sunshine cascading in the window. Hadn't Matthew fallen asleep beside her? She sat up in a moment of panic, looking around the room. Had his nightmares returned?

She walked into the living room. He wasn't there. She jogged to the terrace and he wasn't there either. She frowned, heading back to the bedroom to grab her phone. Then she saw his flannel shirt folded in the corner of the room. Of course, he was gone- he was playing tennis with Atticus. Comforted, Mary headed to shower. As the hot water beckoned her awake, she remembered more of the events of this morning- his nightmare, their tear soaked conversation on the bench, and the warmth between them. She waited to see if she was going to regret it, but she didn't. She felt good about her and Matthew. They were finally in a place of peace and happiness.

After toweling off her hair, she wrapped herself in a robe and padded out onto the terrace. She rung room service for a cappuccino and pastries. She was flicking through her phone, reading an article about Rose's film. In it she would be playing a Russian princess forced to flee the country during the revolution. The film itself was getting mixed reviews, but Rose's reviews were strong. She was proud of her little cousin.

"New E-Mail from Robert Crawley, CEO," flicked across the top of her screen.

_Mary,_

_Sybil has informed me that you reported that things are going badly between you and Matthew. As I have told you before, it is of the upmost importance that you and Matthew get along. Good headlines about the Crawley's makes our company perform better. We need Matthew's image to improve your image, as we both know it is still something of a spectacle. Like I said before, if at all possible, make him fall in love with you. I know that you don't care for him, but if he can care for you- it will make the whole thing more authentic. Please do this as soon as you can!_

_Sincerely,_

_Robert Crawley, CEO_

_Too late,_ Mary smirked at it, _I'm already actually in love with him._ Her father's plan hadn't worked, or maybe it had truly, in a way that she wasn't ever expecting it to.

She heard the door of the suite open from inside. She quickly switched out of the e-mail application and opened Instagram.

"There are you darling," Matthew said, arriving at the door to the terrace. He was dressed in a white tennis polo and black shorts. Beads of sweat were still clinging to hair. She could faint outline of muscles under his damp shirt. He was lean, as he explained from his illness the year before, but he had evidently worked to gain back muscle.

"How was tennis?" Mary asked, offering him the basket of pastries.

He selected a pain au chocolat and took a huge bite of it. "Exhausting. Though I know that I hardly made a difference to Atticus's practice regime."

"He's terribly kind to Rose to put off his practice for a few days for her," Mary commented.

"He really cares about her, doesn't he?" Mathew said.

"Yes," Mary said, "I wouldn't be surprised if they got married in the next year. They are very good for each other."

"They are rather young," Matthew remarked.

"True, but they make each other into their best selves," Mary said.

"That's a good thing in a relationship," Matthew said, tossing the rest of the pastry in his mouth.

"I'm going to take a shower," he said. He placed a chocolately peck on her lips before turning towards the bedroom. Mary reached out and captured his hand, tugging him back for a moment.

"My hair and make up crew is getting here soon," Mary said, so I'll probably be absorbed in that for the afternoon. "Though I'd rather be with you. There is a tux for you in the closet, because I wasn't sure if you'd bring your own."

"Thank you, Mary," He said, squeezing her hand.

He lingered in the door for a moment longer, shaking his head "I didn't dream this all, right? This is real? You like me?"

Mary laughed, "Yes, of course, now go get ready!"

Several hours and a whirlwind later, they were standing on the red carpet, a loud speaker announcing their names. Matthew hesitated for a moment in the limo, all of a sudden feeling very Hugh Grant in Notting Hill staring after his dazzling, famous girlfriend. Was that a word one would use to describe them now? Yes. After that morning's conversation, he felt safe thinking it. _Mary was his girlfriend_.

Mary had stepped out first, so he watched her from inside. Her dark hair was pilled into an exquisite bun. She had a tiara of light silver flowers around her head, making her look ethereal. She was wearing a light blue dress. It had a high neck and ruffles flowing down like water. She had silvery heels that made her just an inch or two shorter than him. In her hands was a light blue clutch of her own design.

"No Daisy tonight?" Matthew had asked, noticing the small rabbit hoping around her cage before they left.

"You'll be with me," Mary said with a smile, "I won't need her."

Matthew stepped out behind her and offered her his arm. She leaned up to put a kiss on mouth, before tugging him forward to the red carpet where an army of cameras were waiting.

"Just smile," she whispered into his ear after the kiss, "And welcome to your new life."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is that solid communication that I know you've all been anxious for! I hope you enjoyed it. I know I'm utter crap at replying to reviews- but reading them is always one of my favorite things and I can't wait to hear what you think :)


	9. Chapter 9: Phase 9- Domestic Bliss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To make up for the last few angsty chapters, this chapter is pure domestic fluff :) It's a bit long- but it was actually supposed to be much longer- but I ended up breaking it into 3 chapters instead.
> 
> Hopefully it makes a good end to your weekend!

Chapter 9: Phase Nine- Domestic Bliss

"Mary! I got it!"

Mary smiled at her sister's joyful voice into her phone. She was sitting at her desk in the second floor of her atelier where her own office was, sipping a cup of tea, waiting for inspiration to strike her. She loved the second floor of her office where she could look out onto the tiny winding street that was Rue du Grenelle. Today the street was soaked in rain, which she normally liked. Today it was forcing her to begin seriously thinking about her new line. Sybil's call was a welcome distraction.

"Got what, darling?" Mary said.

"An interview for the internship in DC," Sybil explained.

"That's fantastic," Mary enthused. "When is it?"

"Next week Thursday," Sybil said.

"You'll have to book the flight soon then," Mary suggested, "Or maybe book the private jet if father isn't using it."

"Well, if I go," Sybil said.

Mary gagged on her tea. She let out a little cough, before saying, "What do you mean 'if I go'? Of course you'll go!"

"I'm not really sure," Sybil admitted, "I mean what's the point?"

"What's the point?" Mary repeated.

"Well Larry pointed out that it starts in early September, but that's when we will be on our honeymoon," Sybil said.

"So?" Mary said, "Reschedule it. It's not like you can't afford to. If you want to break into politics, you'll need this internship."

"But it would be such a hassle for everyone to change it," Sybil said, "I wouldn't want to bother Larry with changing it now."

"It's two months away!" Mary exclaimed, "That's crap. Face it, Larry just doesn't want you to take it."

"What? Of course he would," Sybil said, "He was so encouraging of my politics."

"He was when he was trying to date you," Mary said, exchanging her teacup for a pen and beginning to idly doodle on a notepad. Her anger at Larry was brimming. "But now you're a threat to his political career. He's trying to limit you."

"Why would he do that?" Sybil snapped, "He loves me. We're getting married. He wants the best for me."

"Sybil," Mary said, tracing the shape of the handbag on the paper, "You are the daughter of billionaire. You're fairly well known. There are a lot of reasons that Larry might want to marry you and not all of them speak to the goodness of your heart and the sharpness of your mind."

"Mary," Sybil said aghast, "That's my fiancé. How dare you say that?"

"Because I've lived this life for a while," Mary said, "Everyone wants to date a Crawley girl. Everyone wants to date the Crawley money."

"Are you saying that Larry is just marrying me for the money?" Sybil asked, "He's a representative in Congress. He doesn't need the money."

"Everyone needs it," Mary countered.

"What are you saying?" Sybil asked.

"I'm saying as your older, wiser sister- you have to make decisions for yourself. You can't make decisions because Larry tells you to. We get to make few decisions in this life, but you can decide if you want to go after this internship. I think you should do it."

"We'll see," Sybil said.

"If Larry wasn't in the picture, would you go to that interview?" Mary asked.

"Absolutely," Sybil said, without pause.

"Then I think you should do it," Mary told her.

"I'll think about. I have a few days to decide," Sybil said.

Mary frowned at her sketch. It was terrible and completely not acceptable. She crumpled up the paper and threw it in the waste bin.

"Speaking of people dating other people for money," Sybil segwayed, "You and Matthew seemed chummy the last few days in Cannes?"

Mary closed her eyes happily. After their heart to heart at sunrise, things between them had changed for good. They had spent the rest of weekend together. Giovanni and Anna took them out on their boat the next morning. He had put his arm around her as they sailed over the sparkling water of the sea. They had a little picnic on the boat- champagne, fresh fruit, baguette, and cheese. They all chatted about what a success Rose's film had been and how lovely the weather was here. That afternoon, they headed to the beach. Mary had tried to read a book, but ended up falling asleep. She thought with joy about how lovely it had been to wake up and see Matthew's peaceful face, glowing in the afternoon sunshine, asleep as well, through her lashes. He'd left early Monday morning to get back to New York.

"I'd love to stay longer darling," He had told her, kissing her goodbye in the car as she saw him off to the airport, "But I truly miss William and my mother."

It had been only a few days since she saw him, but she _missed_ him. She planned on calling him in a few hours, maybe during his lunch hour to hear about his day.

Mary remembered that she was still on the phone with Sybil.

"We finally talked about things," Mary explained to her, "And we are in a much better place now."

"Do that mean you're, I don't know, a thing?" Sybil said, laughing.

"I mean we've said we have feelings for each other, that we want to be more than friends, and then we made out," Mary supplied.

"So you are definitely a thing," Sybil confirmed, "That's awesome Mary. I'm really happy you are together."

"Thanks Syb," Mary said. She started another sketch of a bag, her pencil tracing the outline of another bag.

"Is he visiting this weekend?" Sybil asked.

"He is," Mary said, "We've tickets to see Atticus play at the French Open this weekend. It'll be nice to have our first real weekend together a couple."

"Does that mean you'll sleep together?" Sybil questioned, "Or have you already?"

Mary laughed, "No and no. After everything that's happened in the last few months, I want take it slow."

"How un-Mary Crawley of you," Sybil remarked.

"No," Mary said happily, "It is exactly Mary Crawley of me."

"Oh Mary," Sybil said, "I'm happy you are finally feeling like your life is your own again."

"It's just starting to," Mary admitted, "But Matthew really helps and I'm excited to see where this might go."

"I'm really happy for you," Sybil said, "Truly. This is what I've wanted to you for so long."

"I'll let you go," Mary told her, "But let me know if you are having trouble with the flight to DC. You need to go that interview."

"We'll see," Sybil said, "I'll let you know."

"See you, darling," Mary told her, hanging up the phone.

She leaned back on her chair, looking at her sketch. It was also unsatisfactory. She wadded it up in a ball and tossed it into the waste bin. She wanted to do something different than usual. Her life was, after all, different now, and she wanted that reflected in the new line.

Just then, her phone rang again. She smiled at the caller ID.

"Matthew," She said, picking it up the phone, "I was just thinking about calling you."

"Well, you know what they say about two minds," He said fondly.

"How's your day been?" Mary asked.

"Stressful," Matthew admitted, "We've got a particularly difficult bit of legal things to undertake."

"I'm sorry you are stressed, darling," Mary said, "Hopefully this weekend will help."

"I think it will," Matthew agreed, "I've got to confess I'm rather giddy to watch Atticus play."

"That's rather charming," Mary said smiling. "I'm glad you are coming over for it."

"I'll be getting there early on Saturday morning because I want to make sure everything is finished for WHO before I leave," Matthew said. "Then unfortunately I'll be flying back Monday."

Mary frowned. She had hoped he would be there Friday night to spend time together, but she could settle for Saturday and Sunday together.

"That's perfectly understandable," Mary agreed, "But I can't wait to see you."

"You too darling," He agreed, "But Saturday will be here soon. I've got a few more minutes. Tell me about your day."

"It wasn't much," Mary confessed, "I'm trying to think of ideas for a new line. I haven't stumbled on anything that has really grabbed me yet or speaks to me."

"You'll think of something, darling," He said, "Your designs are widely adored. Just as you are."

"I'm not sure that's true," Mary commented, "But thanks for your confidence."

"I'll always believe in you," He said, "If I send you my flight details, will you send someone to pick me up at the airport on Sunday morning? I'll try to get lots of sleep on the plane so I can be awake for Roland Garros."

"Sounds wonderful," Mary said, "Though I'm not sure I believe you."

"You do know me well," Matthew said, "I've got to go though."

"Have a lovely day," Mary said.

"And you have a lovely evening," Matthew replied.

"Good bye," He said and she clicked her phone off.

Mary sighed, relaxing into her chair, looking at the small pile of sketches that had accrued in her waste bin. What did that say?

Her atelier was empty now, the boutique below as well. She had sent her employees home earlier, the last being the assistant director, Phillipa Baxter. The young Spanish woman was married to an Englishman and had a spectacular resumé. She was the reason that the atelier functioned in general. Besides her, there were a rotating variety of employees who worked in the boutique below. In addition, Mary hired a university-aged intern each semester to help out in the studio. This semester she'd hired Ivy Stuart, whom she'd selfishly hired because she was a Cornell alum. She obviously wasn't running a huge fashion house, instead, a small operation with fewer employees. There was something homey about her business.

Because of this, Mary often stayed late, after all her employees left, like she did tonight. It gave her time to get think up new ideas and get inspiration. But tonight she had none.

Clicking off her work laptop, she stood and reached for her tan trench coat and umbrella. She cinched the belt at the waist, before grabbing Daisy and placing her in bag. After walking down spiral metal staircase to the first floor, clicking off the lights, and turning on the alarm, she stepped out into the rainy Paris evening. Her apartment wasn't far at all from the studio and she was excited to walk in the damp air. _Some people spend their whole lives dreaming of Paris in the rain,_ Mary reminded herself, as she opened her umbrella.

As she wound the street back home, she thought of Matthew in New York doing such purposeful work. There was something rather heroic, if idealistic, about his crusade against illness. She loved the way that he used the skills he had to make the world significantly better. She wished that was something she could do. But what could she ever do to make a difference here?

* * *

It was still dark when Matthew arrived in Paris. He had slept on the plane and was grateful for Mary for buying him a first class ticket. Being able to lay down fully allowed him to actually get some solid rest on the flight. He wanted to be certain he'd have energy to give to tennis, and Mary.

He tugged him suitcase behind him as he navigated the airport, looking for the door out. Mary had informed him that the car would be waiting for him in the arrivals area. The car would pick up Matthew and take him to Mary's flat.

He saw the hired car standing there, a sunglasses driver standing outside of it. He smiled at the comfort of it. Just weeks ago, he thought the idea was pretentious, but now he looked forward to the reliability of the car waiting for him. The driver opened the door, allowing him to climb in. He settled himself comfortably, watching Paris come into view as they drove into the metropolis.

He had nearly drifted off again when the car pulled up outside of Mary's building. He had taken a particularly early flight and Paris seemed to still be sleeping in the early morning. He punched in the door code and headed up to her apartment.

He opened the door to silence. The apartment was still dim in the early morning light. Mary had texted him earlier to say that she would likely be asleep when he got there and to just come in. He assumed this must be the case. _Just wake me up when you get here,_ she had texted him.

Matthew left his suitcase by the door. His shoes were toed off and lined them up beside it. He tiptoed up the stairs to her loft. He hoped that she wasn't opposed to him going up. He crossed the hallway to where her area was.

She was burrowed under the blankets, with just the top of her head peaking out. He smiled at her figured and crossed the room to her. He hesitated before sitting gently on the bed beside her and leaning down to press a kiss into her hair.

"No," she murmured, her voice muffled by the large duvet around her, "No waking up."

"Mary," he laughed, running a hand over her form under the blankets, "We've got to go watch the tennis."

"You sound like a small child. It's seven AM," Mary muttered, "And Atticus doesn't play till noon."

She made a fair point.

"Let's sleep till 9 at least," Mary said, taking his hand and pulling it to her face like a pillow.

He was really tired, despite his solid nap on the plane. And Mary did look so very warm and snuggly under the covers. He could hardly resist.

"Alright, darling," He said softly, following the pull of her hand to lay beside her. She offered him a handful of blanket and he pulled it over himself.

She nestled herself closer to him, letting out a small hum. He inhaled the smell of her shampoo as it wafted from her hair. He let his arms settle around her waist. He took pleasure in normalcy of this.

How was he so lucky? Just a week ago, they hadn't been talking. They'd been a mess of hurt and anger, each guarding secrets that were enough to tear each other apart. But now everything was so different. He was dating Mary Crawley. He was snuggling in bed with her. He felt the soft warmth of happiness well inside. It spread through is body making him safe and cared about in a way that hadn't felt in a very long time.

For a moment he felt so exhilarated that here he was lying beside this beautiful, thoughtful woman for the second time in a week- that he wondered if he would be able to sleep. But then the time change hit him and he felt himself begin to doze.

When he woke later from a wonderfully dreamless slumber, he could distantly hear a faint alarm ringing. Mary was still snuggled in his arms. He leaned forward, nuzzling his head into her hair till he found her neck. He placed a tiny kiss there. He could hear Mary letting out another hum. He put another kiss behind her ear, before whispering, "It's time to wake up, love."

She turned in his arms, her hands resting on his chest, her head fitting beneath his head. He put a kiss on the tip her nose, before angling his head towards his lips. He hesitated a moment, asking permission. So many men hadn't given her choices, so he wanted to give her all of them. This one she said yes to, closing the gap between them to press her lips to his.

He pulled back and took her in. Her hair was mused from sleep, sticking up in some places. He smiled at the fashionable Mary Crawley with messy hair. Her eyes were still half closed, her long dark lashes only adding to her beauty. She was wearing another silky camisole, this time in emerald green. One of straps had slipped from her shoulder, but he didn't move to put it back, intrigued at the way it gave view of the sharp lines of her collarbones.

"Good morning," He said, running his hands down her arms.

"Good morning," She replied, pressing her lips to his again, and then another time.

"Mary," He whispered between kisses, "This is the loveliest way to wake up."

She hummed, kissing him again.

"Except," He continued, "For that alarm."

She broke into giggles. He took a moment to realize that Mary Crawley was giggling- how truly extraordinary that was.

"I suppose we should wake up," Mary decided, rolling out of his arms to the source of the noise.

She grabbed her phone from her nightstand and jabbed the off button. She slipped out of the covers and stood to head towards the en suite.

"I'm going to get ready," Mary said, finally pushing the camisole strap onto her shoulder, "If you needed to freshen up at all, you can use the downstairs suite like last time."

He blinked a few times as she closed the door to the bathroom, still blissfully bewildered that this was somehow his life.

He did concur that a shower was in order and he walked down the stairs. He heard Mary's shower click on. He wondered if they would ever get to the point where they would take showers together instead of floors apart. But they had forever now to reach those parts in their relationship. For now, he was more than content to simply kiss her.

When he returned back upstairs a half hour later, Mary was flitting around the kitchen. Today she was wearing a short black and white dress with a collar that looked like something from Peter Pan. Her hair was pinned up in a bun.

As she turned for a moment to fiddle with the cappuccino machine, he took the opportunity to wrap his arms around her waist and place a kiss onto her neck.

"Good morning, darling," He said.

"You've already said that," Mary replied laughing.

"Can you kill a man for wanting his girlfriend to have a lovely morning?" He said, kissing her neck again.

He heard Mary let out a breath, before turning in his arms and whispering, "Not at all." Her lips were on his again and he could taste her toothpaste as her tongue ventured to stroke his. He pushed her back towards to counter, his hands on her hips. Her own hands were weaving into his hair.

She pulled back a few seconds later, her face blushing, slightly out of breath, "I think we should…" she broke off, giving him a smile, "Coffee."

He accepted the mug that she pressed in his hands and made his way to the stool on the other side of the counter. He had told her that he wanted to respect her pace and he meant it. If a bit of making out in the kitchen was as far as things were going to go for a while- he was still without a doubt the luckiest man in the world.

"The boulangerie is closed for some bizarre bank holiday, so no pastries" Mary said, moving to the refrigerator. "I can make some eggs if you like, we still have time before we have to head out."

"You cook?" Matthew asked in surprise, as Mary began unloading ingredients out of the fridge- eggs, mushrooms, fresh parmesan.

"Not really," Mary admitted, "I can do basics- eggs, pasta, salads. In New York my parents have a cook, which is why Sybil eats at their house most nights, even though she has her own place. I know I could if I wanted to-" she shrugged, "but I'd rather keep this space to myself. I eat out a lot anyway if I have something in particular I want."

Matthew thought about it. They had certainly eaten at a nice restaurant on their first date, and the restaurant in Cannes had been world class. But the weekend he visited her, it had been mostly street food and pastries. He had expected Mary to have pretentious taste in food, and while she seemed to enjoy gourmet meals, she was also quite normal about food as well.

"For the most part," Mary continued, as she heated the pan and poured some oil on it, "I pay for things with my own money. I bought this apartment myself. Traveling, Daisy's expenses, clothes- I'm responsible for it all. In fact, you are probably the only thing my parents have bought me in quite a long time."

"Mary-" Matthew said, "I'm quite positive that we've settled that none of this is about the money anymore. You needn't feel as if your family must pay me that absorbent amount."

She smiled, as she dropped mushrooms into the sizzling pan, "I'm actually quite fond of your charity. I'd be happy for you to have it all."

"Does your family know that things between us are different?" He asked, taking a sip of the cappuccino. If anything, Mary made excellent coffee.

"Sybil does," Mary informed him, adding the egg mixture to the plan, "But my parents don't. I'm not entirely positive they care, as long as the Crawley name looks good."

Matthew frowned at how bizarre the dynamics in Mary's family was. He just had his mother and William. Their life was simple, but he never doubted that his mother cared deeply for him.

He took another sip of a cappuccino, trying to decide if he should try to convince Mary that her family truly did care for her. Then she was putting the plate of eggs in front of him and he was too distracted by the perfectly folded omelet to broach the subject again.

Less than an hour later, after Mary fixed her make up and fed Daisy (it was too warm today to bring the bunny to the tennis match- but she wasn't worried as she'd have Matthew by her side), then texted for the car and made out with Matthew as they waited for it to arrive, they were finally pulling up to Roland Garros.

 _We're here,_ Mary typed to Rose who would be meeting up with them. She had added a heart, smile, and tennis ball emojis for good measure.

They stepped out of the car, instantly overwhelmed by how sunny it was. Mary slipped on her sunglasses and reached for Matthew's hand. They were going in at the Player's Entrance because it would provide them a little more privacy. It also made it easy for Rose to find them

"There you are," Her cousin chimed as she walked up to them. Rose was wearing a light blue sundress, her blond curls falling down from a ponytail high on her head. She pulled Mary into a hug and then clasped Matthew on the shoulder. "You both look so bright this morning. Atticus will be happy to see you. He's actually a bit nervous."

Rose started leading the way to where Atticus' suite was. "He hardly played last weekend, which was very kind of him, since he said he wanted to spend his time totally focused on my film. Except for playing with you, of course, Matthew. But well, that's not exactly the same- no offense."

"None taken," Matthew said, "I'm still flattered he even attempted to play with a novice like me."

"You're family," Rose said, a tone of disbelief in her voice, "Of course, he'll play with you."

"But this is a first round match," Mary acknowledged, "And he's highly ranked. Surely he has no reason to be nervous."

"You'd think," Rose said, "But he still gets anxious about these things. There is something rather endearing about it. But I do my best to help calm his nerves."

"He must be lucky to have you," Matthew said, squeezing Mary's hand.

"We are lucky to have each other," Rose said, open the door to Atticus's suite.

It was a large sunny space with a huge window, sofas and a tv showing a match going on. There was more to it and Mary imagined it must hold bathrooms and showers. There was a small kitchenette in the corner where some snacks and drinks were spread out.

Atticus himself was seated on the couch, his elbows on his knees, his face buried in his hands, looking rather nervous. He looked up when they walked in and instantly changed his demeanor to a friendly grin.

"Mary! Matthew!" He said, raising to shake Matthew's hand and give Mary a kiss on the cheek. "I'm so happy you made it."

"We're happy to be here," Matthew said earnestly.

"Would you like some drinks?" Rose asked, making her way to the kitchenette.

"Yes, thank you," Mary answered for the two of them.

"How is the Crawley family?" Atticus asked, as he gestured for them to sit down on the sofa. Mary and Matthew sat down beside each other, Matthew arm settling low on Mary's back.

"Well," Mary answered, "I can only really vouch for Sybil. I haven't seen mother in weeks, which is for the best really. And father is more of the e-mail type. And Edith is really the silent type. But Sybil is well."

"What is she up to these days?' Rose asked, passing Mary and Matthew icy glasses of gin and tonic, before perching herself on the corner of a chair.

"She's all marriage plans these days," Mary explained, "Cake tastings, dress fittings, those sorts of things."

"I can still hardly believe that little Sybil is getting married," remarked Rose, "We're nearly the same age and I couldn't imagine it. But you know it does suit some people to wed early."

"It does," Mary admitted, "but I'm not sure it suits Sybil."

"Oh?" Asked Atticus, looking a little less nervous and more interested in her story.

"She's gotten this interview for a quite prestigious internship in DC, that would help get her in the door for a career in politics," Mary explained.

"That's terrific," Rose awed.

"But she's thinking of not even interviewing because she's afraid it will take away from her wedding plans," Mary told them. "And Larry agrees with her."

"No, that's horrible," Atticus gasped.

"I'm all for young women making choices that are right for them. But to put aside the career she's always wanted for guy she's known for less than a year," Rose said, "That does worry me."

"Me too," Mary agreed.

"What if you just bought the plane ticket?" Matthew suggested.

"Oh yes, that's clever," Atticus concurred.

"I hate to say this," Rose said, frowning, "but she knows that the cost of ticket from New York to DC is nothing to you Mary. She can't feel that bad wasting your money when she knows there is plenty to spare."

Mary nodded, "I agree. It's a rather good idea, but she won't feel obligated to go if I simply gift it to her."

"What if some else did?" Matthew suggested. "What if I gave it to her instead?"

"I think she'll still be suspicious," Mary admitted, "She knows that you've been eh- how do I put this darling? Welcomed into the family financially?"

Matthew grimaced but nodded, clearly understanding her implication.

"Is there someone else you know?" Atticus probed, "A friend of hers or yours?"

"There is Gwen," Mary thought, "But she's just graduated. She may have majored in computer science, but doesn't mean she's got the money to shell out on tickets for her friends. Not to mention she's caught a particularly nasty case of mono, she'll be on the couch for the rest of the summer."

"What about Tom?" Matthew said.

"Who is Tom?" Rose asked, leaning forward intrigued.

"Your best mate?" Mary asked, remembering the vaguely idiotic man they met in a dress shop a month.

"They text each other once and a while, you know," Matthew told them.

"They do?" Mary said, her eyebrows lifting.

"Tom's quite smitten with her, not that he'd do anything to hurt her engagement," Matthew said, "But he seems to care about her."

"Enough to pay her ticket to DC?" Asked Atticus.

"I think it's believable," Matthew nodded.

"Sounds like a good plan," Rose commented, "I adore Syb. Even if she is getting married to someone hideous and we can't interfere, we can damn well make sure she gets that internship."

"You'll ask Tom to help?' Mary asked, kissing his cheek softly.

"Gladly," Matthew said, taking out his phone.

The door opened and a Roland Garros official with a think accent called, "Atticus Aldriged?"

"Excuse me," Atticus said, giving Rose a quick peck on her lips, "I've got to go mates. See you out there."

"Good luck Atticus," they murmured, as he and his coach headed out with official.

"Shall we go to our seats?" Rose asked.

* * *

It was three hours later, both of them a little sunsoaked, that they headed back to Mary's flat. She was lying across the row of car, her head resting in Matthew's lap.

"Do I insta a picture of today or not?" Mary asked tentatively. "I mean on one hand. I thought today was rather fun. The weather was lovely, if not a bit warm. I got to see my cousin. I got to watch my boyfriend adorably geek out over tennis-"

"I don't know what you are talking about," Matthew said, smirking.

"No, don't deny it," Mary laughed, "I like it quite a bit when you get so excited over a good stroke. You look so entirely happy."

He stroked a strand of hair out of her face, before bending to put a kiss to her lips. "I guess if it makes my Mary happy, then it is worth it."

"Anyway," Mary continued, as she flicked through her pictures. One of her and Matthew eating ice cream together outside the stadium, one of Matthew's face lit up with joy as he watched the match, one of them taken from behind by Rose with the backs of their heads and Atticus paying in the distance- they were all very good and instagramable. Not only would they get lots of likes, but anything with Matthew would help her image. They knew their relationship, as far as they knew, was for the long term and she really did care for him. But she couldn't deny that her image needed a boost, especially for this new line (that was if she ever thought of an idea for it).

However, there was one thing making Mary hesitate to post the photo, "I want to post a picture. But well, Atticus losing a first round match- it was rather embarrassing for him."

"He seemed pretty upset," Matthew agreed.

"He was projected to do so well," Mary said, sadly.

"It must have been the nerves," Matthew said, "And well, it was marvelous of him to have been with Rose for her festival last weekend, but I know that those two days through him off his practice regime."

"What are you talking about, darling? He had you to practice with," Mary teased.

"Oh shut up," Matthew laughed back, his body shaking underneath her, "We both know it was to quench my, what was it you said? My 'geeking out?'"

They laughed together.

"You don't leave till Monday morning, right?"Mary asked, "What if we had a picnic tomorrow and posted about that instead?"

"I think that might suffice," Matthew said.

"Mmmm, good," Mary said, her eyelids flickering, thinking of how she wanted to slip into her comfiest clothes when she got home. She hoped Matthew was okay with snuggling up to watch a film and eat sushi, because that was all she wanted to do tonight. She let her eyes slip closed, her mouth curving into a smile, because she already knew he would be okay with it. He was so supportive and easy going. He made her feel safe and she was finally letting her stomach stop churning at the idea of safety.

So they did just that- an evening of sushi and pajamas. They cuddled on the couch and watched a film about Paris, one old enough that no one Mary knew was in it, on her rather large television. Mary found strawberries and Nutella in her kitchen, which made for an excellent makeshift dessert. The sun dipped low and then disappeared. Mary began to drift off on the couch and woke up later to Matthew carrying her up to her bed. She smiled sleepily at him.

"Shall I stay?" Matthew asked, placing her on the bed and sitting on the corner of it.

Silly Matthew, he had slept in a bed with her before.

"Of course you shall," Mary said through sleep, "Always stay, darling."

So he crawled in beside her, gathering her in his arms and letting sleep take them. Mary thought of how nice it was to be touched by him, how warm and safe he was- he was everything that she needed. Then she thought of it. She thought of the idea for her new line. _Matthew_. That was what her new line needed. Smiling at this new thought, she floated into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is Mary's new idea? Will Sybil go to her interview? See you in the next chapter!
> 
> As always, comments make me smile :) Actually, now that I'm home for the summer they've become a bit of an event in my house (I yell "new review" every time one comes in and then usually read it out loud)!


	10. Chapter 10: Phase Ten- Meet the Parents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! This chapter is a little later than normal. I've been trying to every other weekend, but I was on vacation this weekend, so I figure I get a little break. I'm happy to say that I got a lot of writing done while on vacation, so in other words, Chapter 15 is well underway.
> 
> I loved everyones guesses as to what Mary's new line is going to be. I definitely giggled the idea of Mary designing Man Purses. Hopefully, it'll surprise you!

Chapter 10: Phase Ten- Meet the Parents

They were laying in the sun the next day in Park Montsouris. Mary had spread out a checkered blanket that looked like something out of a cartoon in perfection. They had stopped at the boulangerie around the corner to get fresh baguette and quiche, then to the Franprix next door get some wine and smelly cheese.

The park was full of others on a beautiful Sunday. There were picnic blankets dotting the bank of the pond. Some were families, their small children running through park, hands sticky with candyfloss ("They call it Papa's Beard in French. Isn't that funny?" Mary had told him as they passed a vendor). There were groups of friends in their 20s, drinking beer and giggling about their lives. Farther away, there were tiny children on pony rides and slightly older children playing football. On the otherside of the pond, there was a posh, expensive restaurant where well-dressed adults were having a proper brunch. But Matthew was more than content to sit here beside Mary and take it all in.

"It looks like something out of a George Seurat painting," Matthew remarked, slathering some cheese on a bit of baguette.

"Hmm," said Mary, who was lying beside him on the blanket. She was dressed in a dark blue sundress that was smattered with tiny white polka dots. She had had on a wide-rimmed white hat earlier, but had taken it off when they had set up their picnic. It was evident that this was a park for Parisians, not tourists- they were safe here, just part of the crowd. "I like that. I'm going to use that as my caption for my picture, 'Sundays in the Park with Matthew.'"

Matthew knew that she was referencing a musical. Lavinia had once sung a song from it in a revue she was in. For a second he braced himself for a wave of panic, but it didn't come. He knew that he was still affected by those things, but in the early afternoon sunshine of today, he felt nothing but warm calm.

"Hopefully another picture with you will be the tiny boost I need to get people to take my new line serious," Mary explained.

"And what is your new line again?" Matthew asked, "Have you figured it out yet?"

"Um I think so," She said her voice sounding uncharacteristically quiet, nerves tingeing her tone.

"Have you really?" Matthew said happily. "Tell me."

She sat up, tucking her feet underneath herself, her back straight and elegant. Her forehead crinkled a bit, almost apologetic, "I'm sorry you have listen to me prattle on about fashion."

"Oh Mary," He said, suddenly concerned, did she not understand how much respect he had for her, "I think what you do is astounding, truly. I could never think in the way you do, or have the vision you have for details."

She bit her lip, "Are you sure? You go off everyday to save the world and I sit here and worry over textiles and-"

"Shhh," He said, reaching out to stroke a finger down her pale cheek, "Mary, you are incredible. Please don't listen to anyone who doesn't give you the credit you deserve."

She closed her eyes, "I've just been thinking a lot about how you've made such a difference to people and the work I've done can hardly compare."

"We've lived very different lives Mary," Matthew said, confusion etching its way into his face, "You know the anxiety that's gotten me to this point. Just because we do very different things, doesn't mean-"

"That's not it," Mary said again, pursing her lips, before giving a little smile, "I've been thinking about this a bit and how I'm trying to do this new line and you are trying to start up this new charity. I want to feel like the work I do contributes to the world. Not just in giving you sumptuous donations."

Matthew nodded, trying to figure out where this was going.

"I was thinking- what if we tried to do something together? Like I don't know, Tom's Shoes where they give one pair of shoes to a poor kid for ever pair bought," Mary suggested.

"Well it's actually not the best model for a business, it doesn't help in development the way that-" Matthew began.

"But you get what I'm asking," Mary said, her voice more confident and business-like, "What if I could do a line of purses that contributed back to your charity? Maybe like each bag buys ten vaccines or something. Would you be… on board for something like that?"

But Matthew's face had already broken into a huge smile, giving himself away. He felt so happy that Mary wanted to be involved in the work that set him on fire. She wanted to help in his life long crusade against disease and inequity. He was probably being rather dramatic about it, but he was thrilled. He wanted to see how they were going to change the world together.

He reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze, before putting a small kiss on it.

"Mary," He breathed, "Your idea? It's like, God, this is cheesy, but like music to my ears."

"Really?" She said, her face bright, "I thought it up last night and I was so worried you'd think I was incapable or-"

"Mary," Matthew said, seriously, astounded she'd think anything like that, "If anything, I've learned you are capable you put your mind to."

He drew her towards himself, wrapping his arms around her back to put a kiss on her lips. He could feel her smiling through the kiss.

He pulled away for a moment, "If we are going to do this, I have conditions."

Mary's face creased with worry for a second, her voice beginning to ramble out before Matthew could stop her "What is it? God, are you worried it won't make you look serious enough or hurt your reptuat-"

"No, darling, not at all," Matthew said, pulling her into another kiss, allowing his hand to tangle in her hair.

He smiled at her again, pulling back to explain his conditions, "I simply ask that you come visit me in New York this week. If you can manage it."

Mary chuckled, "That's it?"

Matthew nodded, "We'll obviously need to make some business plans together. And I'd like for you to meet my mother, if you don't mind."

"Oh no," Mary said, "Must I?"

"She'll think highly of you, I'm sure," He said, "Just as I do."

"Are you positive?" Mary asked, "I'm not sure anyone is too keen on the Crawley's these days."

"I've raved to her about you," Matthew admitted.

"Have you?" Mary said, smiling coyly.

"Yes, don't worry, Mary," He said, moving his hand soothingly from where it stayed in her hair, "If anyone knows you as I do, the real Mary, they can't not adore you."

* * *

_You bought me a plane ticket to DC?_ Sybil typed, frowning at the text, her forehead crinkling in confusion.

"What is it, dear?" Larry asked, looking up from his eggs benedict.

Sybil bit her lip, glancing at the offending text, but realizing that trying to explain to Larry that a charming, but strange guy she'd met at her wedding dress fitting had just bought a plane ticket to DC was going to be too difficult.

"It's nothing," Sybil said, dropping her phone in her purse, and taking a huge gulp of her mimosa.

"Are you still planning on going to that horrid interview?" Larry asked, slicing his eggs and putting a huge piece in his mouth.

"I just got my plane ticket in fact," Sybil said, trying to not make it sound like she was still baffled that this had just happened.

"I really don't see why you are doing this," Larry said, "You won't be able to accept it."

"Why not?" Sybil asked, her conversation with Mary ringing in her ears.

"Sybil, dear, we've been over this," Larry said, spearing another bit egg, "It's during our honeymoon."

"It's not like it's difficult to change travel plans," Sybil said, "We could just do it another time."

"It might be hard to get it exactly the way we planned it already," Larry said.

"Please, we both know it's not hard to book a trip," Sybil said, "It will be fine."

"I'm just saying it's a lot of fuss to make and for what?" Larry said, now moving on to the plate of bacon he ordered.

Sybil picked at her frittata, "What do you mean for what? I need these connections. You were the one who recommended networking when I asked you for advice last year."

"And you did, dear," He said, "You networked with me and now look, soon you'll be the wife of a congressman."

"Yeah, but this internship will get me experience in what I want to focus on," Sybil said.

"I can fix you whatever connections you wish for, dear," Larry said, taking another bite of bacon.

Sybil supposed that was true of dating a congressman. She would have special privileges that other young politicians might not. Did she really need to do this internship? She had lots of time to start her career. She should just enjoy her wedding and her honeymoon. She could leave the internship till when she got back.

She took another sip of mimosa, while Larry said, "Besides, honestly dear, you probably don't have to work if you don't want to. I'll make plenty and we'll always have your family's money."

Sybil choked a bit and forced herself to swallow, "Are you insane? Of course you know I want my own career. I don't plan on just sitting around spending money. That's not what I went to uni for."

"Woah, calm down," Larry said, rolling his eyes, and putting his hands up, "I'm not saying you have to. But look at you dear, you seem so stressed about this all this political stuff. Don't you think it would be easier if you could just spend your time volunteering or shopping or getting brunch with friends?"

Sybil _was_ already feeling stressed about the interview and the wedding and how very grown up her life had become recently. But no, she couldn't let herself think this. "Larry, I've worked too hard for this. I'm not just going to toss this opportunity away. It takes a lot for people to take the Crawley name seriously. I have a genuine shot in front of me."

She nibbled on one of strawberries used to garnish her dish, trying to mask the confusion. "When we first started dating, you loved my political ambitions. That's why I wanted to talk to you; I wanted to learn from you."

"Sybil, your determination and ambition are some of your most admirable qualities," Larry said, a debonair smile returning to his face, "As is your kissing, I might add. What do you say we head back to your place to celebrate your interview?"

Sybil grinned back, but her stomach felt unsettled. Mary's conversation from days before lingered in her mind. She had never questioned anything with Larry before and she hardly had a reason to now. It was hardly anything really. He was probably just excited for their honeymoon. She knew that she was too. But now that Mary mentioned that there might be another motivation for Larry's love for her, that he might be more interested in the Crawley money than her- now that the thought had entered her mind, she couldn't help but have it tinge every interaction with him. She hated it, but it was true.

"I'm actually feeling a little bit ill," Sybil lied, realizing that she wasn't in any mental state to sleep with Larry right now, "I think I might have had too much bubbly."

"You had one mimosa," Larry said, skeptically.

Sybil shrugged, "Anyway, I'm going to go home alone, if you don't mind. I think I need to lie down for a bit."

"Do you want me to come with you?" Larry said, looking genuinely concerned, "Do you think that someone spiked your drink or something? We could sue, you know."

_God, why was lying to this man so tedious?_

"No, don't make a fuss. I'm going to call for the car and I'll be just fine in a bit," she said.

She grabbed her purse, ran her hand over her forehead to try to look more unwell, and walked over to press a limp kiss to Larry's cheek.

"Will you text me in a bit to let me know how you're feeling?" Larry asked.

"Sure," Sybil said, turning to exit the restaurant.

She walked into the sunny, warm spring afternoon outside. She was tempted to head to a park, but she didn't want to run into Larry in case he went to Central Park after. So she started making her way towards her apartment. She probably shouldn't bother walking it. She was bound to get stopped by people asking for autographs or selfies (not that she felt as if she had really done anything to warrant such attention). But the weather was too nice to stay cooped up in a car for a few blocks.

She hoped that maybe if she made herself look busy, no one would bother her. Which made sense, since she did need to call Tom and settle this flight business. She took out her phone and dialed his number.

"Hey," Tom replied, "Now before you give yourself a fit, let me explain why I bought you the ticket."

Sybil sighed very quietly at the sound of Tom's voice. She would be lying to say that she didn't go a little weak the knees for his Irish accent. She had read a Buzzfeed or some other article online once that said that Irish accents were the sexiest. Sybil would heartily agree with this statement. Sybil, despite being born in London, had moved to New York when she was quite young. While both Mary and Edith had pronounced, posh English accents, Sybil only had a trace of one- something that had caused her to be jealous of her sisters. Whereas Mary seemed indifferent to the voices of the men that doted on her, Sybil couldn't help but be extremely attracted to foreign accents, especially Tom's.

She gathered herself together to reply to him, "I'm not sure what sort of explanation you have for buying a plane ticket for an almost stranger."

"Aw come on Syb, we're not strangers," Tom lamented back to her.

She laughed a bit, "We've only met once at my dress fitting, where you were all star-eyed and making a fool of yourself."

"I was not star-eyed," Tom protested.

"Right, you just gape open mouthed at all the girls you meet?" Sybil teased.

"Just the pretty ones," Tom corrected.

"Okay, Romeo, why did you buy a plane ticket for Sybil Crawley?" She asked.

"I am actually going to be in District of Colombia that day as well," Tom explained, "Matthew had mentioned to me that you'd be there for an interview, but hadn't yet gotten a ticket. So I simply bought it myself for you."

"Matthew told you, hmm?" Sybil said, pursing her lips together, "I'm calling bullshit. Mary and Matthew put you up to this, didn't they?"

"What? No?" Tom's voice replied.

_Endearing, though still a bit of an idiot,_ evaluated Sybil.

"Well it's probably better this way," Sybil told him, "Now I don't have to worry about you spending your money to buy a plane ticket for a rich girl with a private jet."

"You've a jet?" Tom gawked.

"Basically only my father uses it for company things," Sybil explained, "Mary and I usually just fly commercial, though first class, of course."

"Of course," Tom laughed, "I will tell you that if you accept this ticket I have for you, it is actually economy. You'll have to rough it out with great unwashed."

"Are you serious?" Sybil said, "That's actually rather exciting."

"So you'll come then?" Tom said.

"I suppose," Sybil agreed, "Only because I pity you for having being coerced by my sister and her boyfriend."

Sybil bit her lip, wondering if she should reveal the rest.

"And because Larry is being a bit of dick about the whole thing and I'd like to go to spite him," Sybil explained.

"That's the spirit," Tom cajoled.

"Are you really going to DC this week too then?" Sybil asked. She was entering her building now, already excited to take off her heels and nap on the couch for a good hour before even attempting to think about doing things. "Or was that just part of Mary and Matthew's cover for you?"

"No, I am going to DC," Tom explained, "I'm writing an article on congressional corruption."

"Sound intriguing," Sybil said, genuinely interested, as she boarded the elevator, "I'm sure you'll have plenty of time to tell me about it during our journey."

Tom paused for a second and she wondered if he was surprised.

"Yes, I suppose I'll tell you then," Tom agreed.

"I guess I'll see you on the flight," Sybil said, "Shall I pick you up? I know cabs to the airport can be quite expensive and I have the private car. It's the least I can do to repay the favor."

"I guess so," Tom said and Sybil swore she could hear him shrug.

"Great, I'll text you the details," Sybil said, as she entered her apartment. "See you then, Tom."

"See you then, Syb," Tom said into her ear.

She toed off her shoes, happy for the tranquility of her own apartment. She put her phone on the side table and curled up on her sofa. A nap would be blissful because it meant that for just an hour or two she didn't have to think about the way Larry had made her stomach churn with frustration, or the way her heart started to leap at the idea of this internship and her dream career in DC, or the way that Tom's voice gave her butterflies. Yes, all that was definitely too much to think about for a Tuesday morning. A nap was definitely in order.

She was nearly asleep when she thought of her sister. She grabbed her phone and typed, _Fine. I'm going to DC. Please stop dragging darling Tom into your mad plans._

_Perfect,_ Mary replied, _I'll be in New York this week to help you prepare._

Sybil rolled her eyes, turned off her phone, and curled up on the couch.

* * *

"Mary," Matthew said, "This is my mother."

Matthew watched the two women take each other in. Mary with her hair in a perfect plait dressed in a sophisticated black dress. His mother with her curled hair, endearing grin, and hand knit sweater. It was a bit of a clash of worlds, standing right in his kitchen. But they were his two worlds and he was overjoyed to see these two women who he cared very much for in two very different ways take in each for the first time.

"It's so lovely to meet you," Mary said, shaking Isobel's hand, a trace of nerves across her porcelain face.

"And you too my dear," the older woman replied, grasping her hand with both of hers to give her a warm handshake.

He watched Mary's expression soften as she sensed that Isobel respected her.

He had worried about what his mother would think of Mary. He remembered their brunch weeks before when she had commented on how vapid the "Other Crawleys" were. He hadn't been in touch regularly with his mother since he'd started seeing Mary, so he wasn't sure if her feelings had changed on them. He had reassured his mother that he was very happy with Mary. However, he knew that wouldn't stop Isobel from forming her own opinion. She was just as headstrong as Mary herself.

But Isobel was nothing if not sincere, and her tender greeting to Mary proved that she'd won her approval.

"Shall we start on dinner?" Isobel asked.

His mother had brought over a bag of ingredients. Originally, she wanted to have them over to her place in Brooklyn to cook dinner for them in typical "meeting the parents" style. But unfortunately, her power had gone out the night before, the result of a late spring storm. So the cooking session had been move to Matthew's apartment, with Isobel deciding that Mary and Matthew should help assist her in cooking.

"I'm rubbish at cooking," Mary had admitted earlier, fidgeting on his couch, as they waited for Isobel to arrive, "What if she disapproves of me being with you? What if I'm domestic enough?"

"You made those lovely eggs when I visited last weekend," Matthew pointed out.

"But that's the most advanced thing I can do," Mary groaned.

"My mother is very forward thinking," Matthew said, comfortingly, "I'm sure she won't care about your cooking skills. I'm not very crafty in kitchen either."

So there they were, each of them trying to obey Isobel's directions and trying not to burn down Matthew's apartment. This meant that Isobel was making some fancy sauce for pasta. Matthew was chopping vegetables. Mary had jumped at the opportunity to make salad, as he remembered her mentioning that salads were something she could manage.

Isobel was babbling on, recounting stories of Matthew's youth. Matthew was trying not to be mortified while she recounted stories of him playing doctor with his favorite stuffed animals. But hearing Mary's giggle as she sprinkled feta over the salad almost made it worth it.

When they had finally settled at the table, the creamy pasta steaming and the air fragrant with garlic, candles sparkling in the center of the table, Matthew poured them glasses of the wine Mary had bought. It was undoubtedly very expensive and far more exquisite than anything him or his mother would drink ordinarily.

"So, Mary, what brings you to New York this week?" Isobel asked, as they began to eat.

"Well first of all for business," Mary said. She was sitting so straight in her chair, elegant, but perhaps a bit stiff. He wondered if she was still nervous about making a good impression. "Has Matthew told you? We're working on a bit of business partnership together. I'm going to design some bags and have the proceeds will go to his charity."

Isobel beamed, "How clever of you."

"So we had a few meetings today to figure out the best way to make the impact sustainable," Mary explained.

"It's a marvelous idea," Matthew said, "I think it is really going to make an impact."

Mary gave him a smile and he reached under the table to give her hand a squeeze.

"We've nearly finalized the press release," Mary continued, "So soon, it will go global!"

"It sounds like a brilliant plan," Isobel nodded, "It's very generous of you to want to make a difference."

"I was also helping my sister a bit," Mary continued, "She's on her way to DC for an interview. She's never had a proper interview before, so I spent yesterday helping her prepare."

Mary had arrived the day before in the early afternoon. Matthew had been at work, which he had offered to miss in order to pick up Mary and let her sleep off her jetlag in his apartment. "Don't be silly," Mary said, "I'll just go to Sybil's. Honestly, she doesn't do anything but occasional volunteering. And I do need to knock some sense into her in person." When Matthew had arrived at Sybil's the evening before to take Mary out to dinner, Sybil was in full interview attire, Mary firing interview questions at her.

"Actually if you are thinking of working in a politics, they might ask you more about different things," Matthew had mentioned, which had somehow prompted him to getting in on the interview process. This resulted in ordering pizza instead of a dinner out, and staying up half the night, the three of them focused on Sybil's interview. Somewhere in there, Mary had fallen asleep on the couch, curled under a chennile throw. Matthew and Sybil had stayed up later discussing some of his contacts in DC that she might be able to network with. Eventually Sybil started to yawn and he didn't want her to be tired for her long day. She had offered Matthew a room to stay in for the night, but he'd declined.

This meant that today had been Mary's first time in his apartment. He was nervous at first. Sybil's New York apartment was luxurious and Mary's place in Paris was exquisite. He had a simple one bedroom in Murray Hill. It wasn't the most posh neighborhood, full of noisy recent college graduates, but it was close to work, which made it worth it. He'd had no need for additional bedrooms, it had always been just him- even when Lavinia had been the picture- she had never moved in. There was a view of the Empire State Building from one of his windows and he was quite proud of that. However it was a very small space and lacked the sophistication of Mary's neatly curated apartment. He was hesitant though about what she would think. It would be the first time that it was revealed how truly different their lives were.

She had arrived two hours before his mother had. She had just given Sybil the final inspection before sending her off with Tom. Matthew had held his breath as Mary took in the space, worried about what she might think.

"This suites you, Matthew," she said, "I can see you here."

It was furnished in lots of greys. Stainless steel appliances, dark heathered bedspread on his bed, light grey drapes that let in the sun in the early morning. William's bright gold fur from where he watched on the bed was the only thing that gave the room a true burst of color.

"Because it's dull?" Matthew teased.

"No," Mary laughed, as he watched her take in the details, her heels tapping on the floor as she surveyed the space. He knew that she must look down on it. She had such an eye for details. It was evident in her outfits, the way her apartment was decorated, the designs she made- Mary cared about colors and aesthetics.

She turned back to where he was standing just in the doorway and gave him a smile Her heels echoing as she walked over to him, finally taking his hand and telling him sincerely, "No, not dull. Practical, maybe. Minimalistic, if I am being generous. But this is a space of a someone who cares more about the world than he does himself."

Matthew had felt his face curve into a smile, as he pressed a kiss to her lips.

"You obviously care a lot about your sister," Isobel said, drawing Matthew from memory from earlier.

"I do," Mary said, "Sybil and I are very close."

"Aren't you also related to Edith Crawley?" Isobel asked, cocking her head.

"She's also my sister, but she's a bit more reclusive, so I don't see her often," Mary noted.

"Well you must tell her that I loved her book," Isobel remarked, "It's simply brilliant in every way. Do you know if she has another one coming out soon?"

Mary smiled politely, "Sorry, I wouldn't know. But I'll let you know if I hear anything."

Matthew felt a wave of tension hover in the air. He knew Mary hated when people saw the value in her sisters, but not in her. He knew this was a small test. If his mother continued to laud Edith and forget Mary- it would be hard for them to get along.

_Don't mess this up, Mother,_ he thought strongly.

Isobel smiled at Mary, "It's a shame you don't' get to see her more. I'm sure you're parents are proud of Edith and Sybil, but I hope they are just as proud of you."

Mary looked up from where she was picking at her pasta, surprise in her eyes. Matthew felt a pang in his heart because he knew why the surprise was there- people didn't normally say that about Mary Crawley.

"You're really doing incredible things," Isobel awed, "Starting your own fashion line, moving to a foreign country on your own, finding away to help others? They are all things to be very proud of."

Matthew grinned as he watched a faint blush graze Mary's cheeks.

"You'll have to tell my parents that then, if you ever meet them," Mary said, a shyness to her voice that he hadn't seen before.

"I am sure I'll make their acquaintance at some point and I will certainly will," Isobel said.

Just then, Mary's phone began to chirp.

"It's Sybil," Mary explained, looking up at it.

"Oh answer it, please," Isobel said, "I'm so eager to hear how her interview got on!"

Mary nodded and rose from the table to take the call.

"Thank you for saying those things, Mother," Matthew whispered, once he was certain Mary was engaged.

"Well of course," Isobel said, "She's extraordinary. I know that you didn't find her in the conventional way, but I'm very glad you found her."

* * *

"I'm not going to lie to you Mary," Sybil said, "I totally blew it."

Her feet were tapping down the steps of building as she walked out onto the DC Street. She looked up and down the street, realizing that she didn't know which direction she came from originally. She had been so happy to insist in not hiring a car while in DC. She had been eager to ride on metro and experience life as regular human. But now, she was realizing that years of hired cars had left her with no sense of direction.

_Crap_ , Sybil thought, realizing that she'd have to pause her call with Mary to look up directions. She picked a direction at random and started walking. She was too upset to sit still.

"What happened?" Mary asked.

"They were so critical," Sybil said, "They asked all of the hardest questions you gave me. Then, they asked how I would handle people talking about my family. They asked if my family and social obligations would get in the way. They asked if I was aware that my presence might bring unwanted media attention to their mission."

"Oh Sybil," Mary replied, "I'm sorry."

"I tried to explain to them that the media presence would be good. That more people would know about their efforts and take an interest," Sybil explained, "But it didn't really work. They just kind of frowned and stuff."

"Welcome to the life a Crawley," Mary said, "They will always underestimate you."

"I get why you've been so frustrated now," Sybil remarked, "And I'm the one who gets better publicity anyway- this has got to be way worse for you."

"I'm not going to try to counter that, I honestly thought things might go better for you because you are the family sweetheart." Mary said, "Did they say anything positive?"

"They thought my volunteer experience was impressive," Sybil said shrugging, despite the fact that Mary couldn't see it, "and that my leadership positions looked good. They saw the summer seminar I did at Columbia and said that it was admirable. But I don't think it will be enough. Hundreds of people go for these things. I was lucky to get an interview. I won't make the cut."

"You did the best you could, Sybil," Mary said, "If anything, you have more experience under your belt now. Is there anything else you can apply for this cycle? I could see if Matthew has any contacts that could set you up with an internship."

"Would you really, Mary?" Sybil said, hope beating happily inside her, giving her a breath of relief.

"Of course," Mary agreed, "I'll ask him specifics about it later."

"Oh shit, this is your dinner with his mother, isn't it?" Sybil realized, "I shouldn't have called."

She heard Mary laugh into the receiver, "It is. But don't worry. She's rooting for you too. She's says if you ever change your mind and want to go for nursing instead- she'll be glad to have you."

"Oh, she sounds sweet," Sybil sighed, at least things were working out for one Crawley.

"She is," Mary said, "Will you be back in New York tomorrow?"

"I plan on it," Sybil said, "I've got my flight back at noon."

"Good, I'll see you then," Mary agreed.

"Well I'm off to my hotel now," Sybil said, despite the fact that she still didn't exactly know where to find that.

"You've called for a car, haven't you?" Mary inquired.

"Hmm," Sybil said, "Yes, of course, it'll be here in a sec. Enjoy your dinner! Bye, Mary!"

Sybil hung up the call and looked around to realize that she was totally lost. Randomly walking while talking on the phone with Mary hadn't been the best idea, because Sybil realized she was even more disoriented than before. She knew that DC had dodgy bits, all cities did really. Despite the fact that the street was nearly empty, there were fashionable shops and nice restaurants on this block, so it hardly looked like an unsafe place to find herself. Sybil sank onto a bench and took out her phone to pull up a map. It took a while for her phone to behave. It had just opened up on to a map when it promptly died.

"Fuck everything," Sybil groaned, as she dug in her purse to see if she had a back up charger. Of course, this was the one day she had forgotten it. She instantly regretted calling Mary, but how was she supposed to know her phone was going to die at 40%? Now she was alone and lost in DC, as well as most certainly not getting that internship.

Sybil rose from the bench to make her way towards a more crowded street. This one seemed slow in the early evening light. She was vaguely hoping to ask someone for directions and hoping that everyone in DC was too preoccupied with politics to follow reality TV stars from ten years ago.

"Freeze," A voice said from behind her and her stomach dropped.

She revolved slowly to see a dark hooded figure with a gun staring at her.

"I said freeze," the voice repeated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YIKES! What happens next? It'll be back to the action next chapter. See you then!


	11. Chapter 11: Phase Eleven- Safe and Sound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again all the thanks in world for being incredible readers. I truly appreciate everyone who has made it this far on this journey with me :)
> 
> This is the third chapter in the "I thought this was going to be 1 chapter but it turned into 3" saga. It ended up turning out rather heavy, so be prepared for a lot of feelings. Also, it gets a little more T rated near the end (not quite M yet... but don't be surprised if it turns M in the future).

Chapter 11: Phase Eleven- Safe and Sound

 

 _This is how I die,_ Sybil thought certainly.

Maybe they would kidnap her and hold her for ransom. Her father was certainly rich and would pay it.

Or maybe he was looking for an opportunity to touch, to fuck a Crawley sister. Her stomach churned as she thought about how this situation could easily turn.

Or maybe this guy would kill her on the spot. She should have done like Mary and moved back to Europe where it was far harder for loonies on the street to get guns.

Of course, her phone was dead. Of course, there was no one the block.

 _I'm so stupid,_ Sybil thought, _And soon I will be stupid and dead._

"Don't scream," He voice said, "Drop your purse. Drop your phone. Don't try to run."

Sybil's heart was slamming in chest. Her hands were shaking. She didn't need to be told twice.

She tossed her valuables out of her hands and down the street, behind the mugger. They hit the ground with a thud. She saw the man turn to grab them.

Sybil took that as her opportunity to run. Adrenaline was coursing through her veins and letting her run faster than she ever had before. She didn't dare look back over her shoulder. She realized that the man must have not recognized her, or else surely he would have asked for more than just her purse. She worried he would come after her once he looked at her driver's license.

She reached the corner, but the next block was empty as well. _Wasn't this a big city?_ She kept running, not feeling tired, only desperate to get to anywhere that wasn't there. Where should she even go? Find someone with a phone to call the police? Find a metro station and try to see if she could make it back to the hotel?

All of a sudden, her heel snapped underneath her and she felt herself tumble onto the ground. The concrete bit at her knees and palms and she scramble to catch her fall. The nylons she was wearing ripped. She didn't care. She couldn't stop. She was so pumped full of adrenaline that she hardly felt the pain. She took her heels off, tossed them into the street, and scrambled back to her feet.

She pounded the pavement once more, trying to dart to the end of the block. She was so so stupid. She was stupid to think that she could ever move to a city she didn't know. She was stupid to think that she could find the metro. She was stupid to think that she was good enough for the internship. It was evident that she couldn't handle herself.

Her feet took her to the next street corner. This street was bigger. She came to a brief stop, scanning the street, deciding her next move. There was a bakery about to close, a coffee house, a 7-11, a plush bistro, a bank, and-

"Tom!" She screamed, "Tom Branson."

His face looked up. He was on his phone, but the second he saw her, his phone was shoved hastily in his pocket. His face was crinkled with concern.

"Sybil," He said, his voice full of worry, as he sprinted over to her, "God, what happened to you?"

The second he was close to her, she flung her arms around him. She began to sob, her body still shaking in fear. His arms tightened around her.

"Shh, shh, Syb," He said into her hair, soothingly, rubbing his hands on her back, "It's okay. You're safe. Whatever happened, I'm going to keep you safe."

She just started sobbing harder. _You're safe_ , she repeated to herself. _You're safe_.

"Hey, hey," He said softly, "Let's get you out of here. I know you are in shock, but I don't want you to end up in any papers tomorrow. I'll take you back to the AirBnB I'm renting. I mean, sorry, is that too forward? Can I take you back? I promise I don't have any untoward motives, I just want to get you out of this street."

She nodded into his chest. He kept one arm securely around her, as he took his phone out.

"I'm just calling an uber," He explained.

 _Right_ , because Tom was smart and called a car when he was lost and needed to go home. Tom wasn't stupid like she was.

"It'll be here in a minute or less," Tom explained, his hands still rubbing soothing circles in her back.

He pocked his phone and used that hand to draw her chin in his hand. She felt his gaze on her, assessing for what was wrong.

"Sybil," He asked softly, lowering himself ever so slightly so that he was eye level with her, "Where is your purse? Your phone and things?"

"Mugged," She said, her voice shrill and shaky, "I got mugged."

"Are you okay now? You don't have any shoes," He looked her up and down again, "Sybil, you're bleeding."

"I fell," She muttered, "Running with heels and I was trying to get away and I kissed the pavement and…" She hiccupped a sob, as she tried not to descend back into hysterics.

"He did…" Tom started, a hint of rage in the back of his voice, "He didn't… do anything else than mug you?"

Sybil shook her head, knowing what he asking. There were still tears stinging at the corners of her eyes. She knew that she had been so close to something worse happening. He had a gun. She would have done whatever he asked and that terrified her.

"I just want to get out of here," She murmured, ducking her face back in his neck.

"I think I see the uber now," He affirmed.

He kept his arm around her as he walked with her to the car. They slid into the back seat, Sybil tucking herself into the Tom's side. She held her breath while the driver made small talk. He didn't comment on the fact that she was both sobbing and bleeding. Or that she was Sybil Crawley. Whether he noticed or not, she wasn't sure.

She watched as DC swirled around them outside the windows. She had had such high hopes when she arrived earlier that day. Now she just felt a weird sense of emptiness. She had failed on all accounts. She wasn't going to get the internship. She wasn't going to move here. Nothing mattered really.

They arrived at the apartment Tom was renting and shuffled out of the car.

"Can you do stairs?" He asked.

When Sybil shrugged, he picked her up in his arms and carried her up the steps. The apartment was on the third floor, but if he was uncomfortable, he didn't show it. He placed her on the ground and unlocked the door. He led her inside.

It was nice apartment, with that kind of exposed piping and brick walls that seemed to be in vogue for young apartments these days. Gwen had one just like this in New York. He led her to a chair at a kitchen table.

"Let me go get a first aid kit," He said, walking into one of the bedrooms. She used his absence to roll the bloodied, ripped nylons off her legs. She left them in a ball at her feet.

Tom came back and wordless tended to her wounds. She had stopped shaking a little. She winced as he sprayed antibacterial spray on her knees and palms. He put large band-aids over them. He used a damp cloth to clean the blood from her legs.

"Roll your wrist," He instructed, his words making her jump after the long silence between them. She followed his instruction and she couldn't hide the visible pain on her face. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, pain was returning to her knees, her palms, the soles of her feet, and apparently her wrist as well.

Tom frowned, "You must have hurt it catching your fall. Let's keep an eye on it. We can call Isobel later and ask her what she thinks if it gets worse."

"Isobel is Matthew's mum?" Sybil asked.

"Yup," Tom said, "She's been a bit of a second mam to me. She was real kind to me when I first got to New York."

"Was it your first time in New York?" She asked, indulging in Tom's personal comment. Anything to distract herself from the events that just happened.

"Me first time in America," Tom told her, "I was terrified I'd muck the whole thing up. Luckily I made friends with Matthew and he and his mother took me under their wing. Made the whole thing easier."

"That's sweet," Sybil said, "I like Matthew. He's good for Mary."

"Are they really doing it for real?" Tom questioned, as he poked around the kitchen.

"They are," Sybil said, "And they seem quite happy together. Mary's meeting Isobel tonight for dinner actually."

"That would be quite a pair to see together," Tom said, biting his lip for a moment to think on it, "Speaking of, have you eaten yet?"

Sybil shook her head, "I had just finished my interview when-"

"I'll order a pizza," Tom said, "I laid out some old sweats in the bedroom if you want to change out of your suit."

"Thank you for being so kind," Sybil said, as she rose carefully from the kitchen chair, the floor cool on her bare feet.

"Think nothing of it Syb," Tom replied, as he punched in the number for a pizza.

It was no time at all before Tom and Sybil were sitting on the couch of the rented apartment. Jimmy Fallon was chirping away on the TV. Sybil was dressed in Tom's faded grey Trinity t-shirt and black sweat pants. There was a pizza spread out between them and two beers.

"You are legal to drink, correct?" Tom had teased, after he'd returned with the pizza and a six-pack.

"Oh please, I'm twenty-two," Sybil had quipped.

While they had waited for the pizza, Sybil had used Tom's phone to call he bank and credit card companies to freeze the cards. She'd called Mary as well to let her know what had happened.

But now it all done and they were settled on the couch together, Sybil's energy fading fast as she realized how exhausted she was. So much had happened in one day.

"I don't think I'm cut out for DC," She admitted.

"What? That's rubbish," Tom argued, "There are bad people everywhere. You grew up in New York. You're a city slicker if ever I saw one."

"Cute," Sybil said, "But Larry was right. I can't handle this. I'm best to stick to my wedding planning and volunteer work."

"He told you that?" Tom said, shocked.

"More or less," Sybil shrugged, "He said that DC was stressful. He said the internship might be overwhelming, that it would be better if I stayed in New York and volunteered and shopped and got brunch and-"

"Sorry for being forward, Syb, but what do you see in him?" Tom asked bluntly.

Sybil paused, twirling the ring on her finger. Tom wasn't the first person who had asked her that. She felt a weird sense of defensiveness flair up inside herself. She may be incapable of making it in DC. She may be floundering at making a career for herself. But she definitely knew her own heart. Right?

"He's driven. He has political connections. He's a congressman," Sybil offered.

"It's just that, if I was in his shoes, I would be doing everything I could to encourage your dreams instead of deflate them," Tom admitted.

Sybil didn't know what to say, so she took a huge sip of beer. Tom's phone began to ring, saving Sybil from having to make up something to reply to Tom's candid remark.

"Yes?" He said, answering, "Ah, Mary. Really? Is that so? Yeah, we can go pick it up. That's so curious. Nothing, really? Okay. Thanks for telling me."

Tom hung up.

"What did Mary say?" Asked Sybil.

"The police just called her. They found your bag, apparently right in the street where you'd been mugged," Tom told her.

"No way!" Sybil said, "So they just took the wallet and left the bag? I guess that is something. It's a very nice purse, custom made by Mary."

Tom sat up straighter, "No, Syb, this is the thing- Everything is still there. Your cards, phone, all of it."

"What?" Sybil gasped.

"I know, it's insane," He said.

"But why?" Sybil wondered out loud.

"Mary supposes whoever robbed you didn't know who you were. She thinks that they must have taken one look at the names on the cards and realized they were out of their league. They could quite easily be traced and being sued by the Crawley's is no light thing," Tom told her.

"That makes sense," Sybil agreed.

"But I also wonder if maybe," Tom said, frowning, "Maybe they knew it was you? Like a set up?"

"I don't understand what you're implying?" Sybil asked lightly, curious.

"No, sorry, forget what I said," Tom said, "Let's get back to pizza. We can pick up your stuff in the morning."

Sybil started to drift off not long after Seth Meyers began. She woke to Tom lifting her off the couch.

"I can sleep on the couch," She muttered, "You don't have to give up your bed."

"Nonsense," Tom said softly.

He took her to the bedroom. He peeled back the covers and placed her in the bed, tucking her in.

All of a sudden, Sybil felt very small and very afraid. She hadn't been afraid of the dark since she was a child, but she was afraid of being alone after everything that happened today.

She caught Tom's hand and pulled him back.

"Tom, this is silly," She said, "But can you stay until I fall back asleep. I just don't- I don't want to be alone."

"Of course," He said kindly, sitting beside her. His hand reached out to stroke her hair. She was too tired to scold him, so she let his calming movement coax her back to sleep.

* * *

 

Isobel left hours later, after a few more glasses of wine and a few rounds of cards. Mary and Matthew were left on the couch together. The night had felt long, especially with the two calls from Sybil. The first- saying that she thought the interview went badly. Then a second- saying that she'd been mugged. The third call from the police with news that her bag had been recovered was weirdly chilling. Mary felt a cryptic bit of anxiety cling to her still.

But there was also a sense of something else here as well. Safety, might be the word for it. The TV was purring with a late night show, an actress Mary had met a few times was chatting with a host about a new movie. The lights were low now and Mary felt an energy lingering in the air. An electricity between her and Matthew, waiting to be tapped. Maybe safety wasn't the word for it. Sensuality? Anticipation? Sex?

But there were things to discuss first.

"Do you think Isobel likes me?" Mary asked, timidly. She had spent half the night trying to access what Isobel thought. She was the sort of person that sweet on the outside, but Mary supposed that in she had a world of thoughts in her head. And she also supposed that if it came down to it, she would fight fearlessly for whatever cause was at her heart. She could see exactly where Matthew had gotten his passion.

"Of course, she likes you," Matthew said, pulling Mary beside him and letting her settle against his side. Her legs naturally curled over his lap, like they always seemed to do. "You are intelligent and thoughtful and organized and creative."

"Are you sure those aren't the reasons you like me?" Mary said, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"What? No," Matthew teased, his voice light and teasing, "I don't like you, my darling, I'm only dating you for the money."

"Is that so?" Mary asked coyly, and Matthew turned to kiss her full on the lips.

She felt the electricity that was fizzing in the air between them spark, filling her with a melty warmth. His lips were soft, eager, pressing into hers- her own thin small lips eclipsed by his larger ones. She felt his breath warm on her neck, something distinctly minty about it.

 _Oh fuck,_ Mary thought, thinking of Isobel's pasta and how garlicky her breath must be. She hated that. She knew that a lot of people didn't mind garlic breath. Matthew probably didn't. But she felt a constant, self-inflicted pressure to present herself elegantly.

"One second," she whispered, grabbing her purse and running to the bathroom.

Once she slammed the door, she smiled at Daisy, dolefully hoping around the bottom of her bag. She wondered if the bunny needed some space to move around, so she picked up her and placed her in the bathtub. Mary found her toothbrush and toothpaste tucked in her bag and set to work brushing her teeth.

She was the sort of person who found teeth brushing soothing, if not addicting. She seemed to always be keeping a mental note as to the state of her breath, so it surprised her that things had gotten so far without her noticing. Maybe it was the wine, or the way she felt so comfortable with Matthew.

When she was done cleaning her teeth, she assessed herself in the mirror. What was she going to walk back into? She knew she could go back to Sybil's if she needed to and she did have a key. But she also knew that they had an unspoken understanding between them that she would be staying at Matthew's tonight. She had even thrown a clean pair of underwear and a romper in her purse, so she'd have clothes to wear the next day. Mary Crawley could not be caught doing a walk of shame (well maybe she could if it was with Matthew and the papers saw it). But she didn't know if there an implication that she would sleep with him tonight. She wasn't really sure if she was ready. She adored Matthew, but so far all they'd done was kiss and cohabitate a bed. He couldn't possibly think that they were going to have sex tonight? But the fiery tension before had been so real. She gulped and fished out her phone from her purse as well. She sat on the edge of the tub.

_Mary: Anna, are you up?_

_Anna: It's like 6AM, but yeah, what's up?_

_Mary: Do you think Matthew expects me to sleep with him rn?_

_Anna: Eh? Sleep? I want sleep._

_Mary: Stop it. I'm sleeping over at his apartment in NY tonight. Does that imply sex?_

_Anna: Didn't you say that he made it clear that it was up to you to set what you guys did?_

_Mary: Yeah_

_Anna: Then I'm sure he's fine with anything you want to do._

_Mary: I guess that's true. I just don't want him to get his hopes up and then-_

_Anna: He'll survive. He cares about you. He's not going to run away._

_Mary: Right._

_Anna: Wait, where are you now?_

_Mary: Hiding in the bathroom._

_Anna: Oh my god, you loser!_

_Anna: I mean you're a rich loser. But still._

_Anna: You are Mary Crawley. Go out there and do whatever you want with that man or don't. But you are too radiant a goddess to hide in the bathroom. Off you go!_

_Mary: I have I mentioned you are my best friend. Xo!_

Mary stood up and looked at herself in the mirror. She squared her shoulders, tried for a sultry smile, and checked her breath one last time, before opening the door and heading back to Matthew. He was still on the couch, looking through his phone.

"There you are," He said softly, "Are you alright?"

"Quite alright," Mary agreed, settling beside him. "I just realized that Daisy might want to not be stuck in my bag, so I set her in your tub to hop around a bit, if you don't mind."

"That's more than fine," Matthew said.

He pulled Mary into his arms, and she let her legs drape over his lap- just as they had before. Matthew smiled as her with a look of genuine tenderness, she felt her heart might melt. He took a loose strand of her hair and tucked it behind her ear with such a reverence and Mary felt herself return the smile.

"I can't tell you how incredibly privileged I feel to be able to kiss you, Mary Crawley," He whispered.

Then his lips were on hers, gently demanding a response and she felt like she truly was melting. She let out a tiny sigh. God, he was getting noises out of her from just kisses. He was brilliant. She was the lucky one.

 _What if they kept going?_ Mary thought, her breaths becoming more labored as Matthew ran his hand from the top of her neck, down her arms to settle low on her back and pull her closer to him. This felt so good. And she knew that Matthew was a good guy. She was quite certain that he didn't have the intentions as Pamuk, or Tony. Trust. Trust was the word. She could trust him.

And desire. She did want him. He was attractive, strong, and oh so good at what he was doing. She felt that electricity sizzle between them with each caress of his hands, with each press of his lips against hers. _What if they kept going?_ What if she slept with Matthew Crawley tonight?

Then his face was diving into neck, his teeth giving the tiniest of nips before running his tongue over it to sooth. She let out a full on moan. She couldn't even help it. He was so good. She felt the words stuck in her mouth, "Make love to me, Matthew. Have me, Matthew." She wanted to cry them out, but she couldn't will them out of her throat.

Then he was running his hands over her shoulders lightly. The back of his hand brushing lighting over her collarbone. He tugged gently on the strap of her dress.

"Mary," His voice was full of reverence, "Can I see you? Can I touch you?"

Bless this beautiful man, full of more respect and adoration than she deserved.

"Yes," she sighed, as he eased the strap off her shoulder, as he pressed a kiss to the faint freckles that rested on the newly bare skin. He slipped off other strap, repeating the same movement.

He grasped the top hem of her dress, his hands toying with it gently, his fingertips tinkling the tops of her breasts. Then he was pulling the dress down, so slowly, revealing her strapless, lacy nude bra.

"So lovely," He murmured, as she felt his hands return to top of her breasts, beginning to ease the bra off.

_Kamal, no._

_I said no. You've got to stop._

_This could ruin me._

_Stop touching me._

Mary jerked back from Matthew. Her mind suddenly feeling sabotaged. She took deep gulps of air trying to catch her breath, the world spinning a bit.

She thought of Matthew in Central Park on their first date.

Was this is it? The same thing?

"Love, Mary, are you okay?"

She took a breath. God, she felt stupid. She was sitting there shaking, her dress still pooled at her waste, trying not to cry. She felt so vulnerable.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice chocked.

"Oh Mary," Matthew said, putting it together, "Pamuk, the elevator. I'm so sorry. I should have thought of that. God, are you alright?"

Mary took another deep breath. Her stomach was still churning. She was afraid to talk because she thought she might be ill or faint.

"Sorry," she managed, "I really wanted to do this. I wanted to keep going. Oh Matthew. I thought I was okay. I thought I had it under control."

Matthew raked his hand over his face. "If you put your head between your knees, it might help. It will help get the blood back in your head."

Mary was desperate to stop feeling as if she were about to pass out, so she followed his direction. She felt even more embarrassed; half dressed, bent over and still trying not to cry. But she felt could feel the blood coming back to her head, which was taming the nausea and the ringing in her ears.

She felt Matthew rise up from the coach and her heart sank a bit. Whatever heat and passion had been between them had now fizzled away. She slowly rose back up, slipping her dress back over her torso, so she felt less exposed. She heard Matthew enter the room. She looked up at him and was surprised to see him holding Daisy in his hands.

"Here," He said softly, "She might help you calm down. I'll go get you something comfortable for you to change into."

Mary watched him disappear, a bit in shock at his kindness. She had thought he'd be disappointed in her for ruining the moment. Goodness knows, she was disappointed in herself.

William looked up from where he was curled on the floor, his interest piqued at the new animal. Mary flinched, holding Daisy tighter as the dog trotted over. He gave her a sniff, then too two steps back and let out a small bark. Mary placed her hands on Daisy protectively. Then William took a step closer and gave Daisy a good-natured lick on the ear. Mary let out a small laugh. At least things seemed to be harmonious between their pets.

Matthew returned a moment later with a pair of grey sweatpants and a navy Columbia Law t-shirt. It was the kind of thing she'd never be caught wearing in her public life, but here with Matthew it was safe. She was touched by his act of kindness. She went into the bathroom to change, her legs still shaking, and returned to see Matthew with a glass of water waiting for her. He had changed into a pair of athletic shorts and long sleeved Oxford t-shirt.

"Let's go sit," He nodded to the bedroom.

She gave him an uncertain look. What did he mean by that? He didn't assume that they were going to resume whatever they had been doing before.

"Just to chat," Matthew said, reading her face, "And maybe sleep or watch TV, until you feel safe."

Mary nodded and walked to his bed. She crawled up onto the plush mattress. It was luxurious soft. He passed her the glass of water and she took a small sip. He settled himself beside her.

"Would touching you help or make things worse?" Matthew said, his hand seeming awkward, as he wanted to wrap them around her, but were hesitant.

"Maybe not just yet," she said, still a little terrified of her reaction to his touch before. Everything had seemed safe- but then turned to ash a moment later.

There was a moment of silence between them, while Mary took small sips of water. Then Matthew asked, "Did this happen with Tony? When you-"

Mary shook her head, looking down, "No, Tony, the island, it was like a drug or something. I was so eager to drown everything with Pamuk, that I let it all bliss me out till I couldn't think about what happened. When he betrayed me, it was like I came crashing down really fast. And I guess this is the result."

"I'm so sorry, Mary," Matthew said.

"No, I'm sorry," Mary said, "You deserve better."

Matthew gently chuckled and shook his head, "I can only laugh at that, Mary. I can hardly believe every day how I ever came to deserve you. Each day with you is a privilege."

She looked up at him and he continued.

"Mary, we have all the time in the world to have sex," Matthew said, "Truly. We're still new. You are still healing. Goodness knows I'm healing in my own ways too. That's what we said when we agreed to this. We couldn't fix each other, but we could heal together. I want you to feel safe, always safe, with me, and I'll wait with you until you feel it."

Mary smiled at him timidly. She drained the glass of water and it put it on his nightstand. She looked up at him and then moved closer to him, letting him take her into his arms. She did feel safe there.

"So what did you say about watching something until we were tired?" She asked.

"Ah yes, the tried and true Matthew Crawley anxiety coping technique," He announced, reaching for his laptop, while still keeping an arm around Mary.

Mary laughed, "Ah yes, your tried and true technique- Netflix and chill?"

"I think we've scrapped the 'and chill' part of that for tonight," Matthew said, pulling up the aforementioned site, "But yet, typically watching a happy TV show is known to take my attention from less cheerful realities."

"And what is your prescription for tonight?" Mary asked. To be honest, she so rarely had time to watch TV that she didn't even know what shows one would watch to cheer themselves up.

"I usually go for this one, after an anxious night," Matthew said, holding the cursor over a program, "It's akin to watching sunshine."

"Yes, that sounds good," Mary said, nestling against Matthew as he pulled his soft duvet over her.

For a moment, as the ding of theme song began to play. She let out a sigh of contentment and Matthew put a kiss into her hair. The show began and she found herself letting out a laugh within a few seconds. She felt like a normal 26-year-old in a way she never had ever felt normal before. Here she was, wearing her boyfriends clothes, watching Netflix, snuggling. Yes, this recovery process was going to be a journey. There was a part of her cringed to think that she didn't feel like she was enough for Matthew. Maybe time would tame the pain in heart.

But there was beauty in this moment. There was beauty in the way he was taking care of her. There was beauty in shot at normalcy in a way she never experienced before. It had always been "Mary, do this interview," or "Mary, make sure you dress for this event," or "Mary, don't forget the cameras are always watching." But there was a freedom in the face that in this quiet moment she didn't have to be anything or anyone, she just simply had to be. Her heart flickered with gratitude for hope, for Matthew, and for this moment.                           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will take us to Wimbledon for some more Crawley shenanigans!


	12. Chapter 12: Wimbledon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi All. I've been on vacation with my family for the last week which is why this chapter is a bit later than usual. Hopefully it will be a bit of a midweek delight anyway. I'm moving to Ireland in the next two weeks, so I'm not sure how consistent I'll be able to edit/update. I'm almost done writing Chapter 16... but moving to a different country, starting a new job, moving in with new housemates- it might waylay my progress a little. I'm grateful that I'll still have this fic and my loyal, wonderful readers as a constant in all this change :)

Chapter 12: Phase Twelve- Wimbledon

The weeks began to flick by. Matthew returned to Paris one weekend. Mary had taken him to her favorite museum, which turned out to be the Petit Palais, where they had tea together in a gorgeous garden. That night, Mary brought him to a rooftop club where they both got a little drunk and watched the sunset. Matthew couldn't think of anything more wonderful than dancing with Mary, her body against his, the music pumping through them, and a light breeze bringing the smell of her perfume to his nose.

The following weekend, they'd been unable to see each other, as Matthew had a work engagement in New York and Mary had an industry thing in Paris. The next one was in spent in New York, then back to Paris again the following weekend, until the weeks began to blur blissfully together.

There were French pastries, walks in parks, and plenty of time spent with Daisy and William.

There was question after question as they worked to get to know each other.

" _Do you exercise?" Matthew had asked, drinking champagne with Mary in the Parc des Buttes Chaumont on a warm June evening. He had wondered for weeks how she stayed so slim._

" _I take those kitchy barre workout classes on Mondays and Wednesdays at a basement studio in the 9_ _th_ _. I do a morning jog Tuesdays and Thursday. Then rest on the weekend," she explained._

And then:

" _What sort of films do you like?" Mary asked, lying on the couch as the credits of_ Funny Face _rolled. She had recently revealed that Audrey Hepburn films were her favorite, but perhaps this one was her all her time favorite._

" _It's rather silly," Matthew admitted, "But I'm fond of superhero movies."_

" _Like Batman and Robin?" Mary asked, laughing._

" _Not those particularly, but I'm rather fond Captain America," Matthew told her._

" _Matthew, you aren't even American," Mary giggled._

_He was silent for a beat before adding, "He helps people, saves them. Sometimes I just wish I could do that."_

" _You do," Mary said, earnestly._

" _I know," Matthew said, "But it sure would be a lot easier with super powers."_

There were plenty of nights spent snuggling together. There were good morning kisses, good night kisses, "I missed you" kisses, "I like you quite a bit" kisses, "thank you for soothing my nightmare" kisses, and even the elusive "we're passing the Luxembourg Gardens again, shall we go make out for old times sake?" kisses.

But then again, that was all there was. They're relationship had lingered in the kissing stage since the incident on the day Isobel visited. Matthew didn't mind. He would rather simply kiss Mary than sleep with any other woman in the world. He treasured her now, not just the beautiful side that was easy to adore, but each of her nuances he was coming to learn. He only hoped that Mary would learn to overcome her aversion to intimacy, not for his sake, but for her own. A woman like her deserved to be worshiped in every possible way. He hoped one day she would let herself be loved, to feel the joy of intimacy with someone who thoroughly adored her. But Matthew had all the time in the world to wait for her.

If there was anything Matthew couldn't wait for, it was Wimbledon. He had secretly had a countdown on his phone for weeks. He'd been texting Atticus encouragements daily, keeping in contact to hear about how his training was going. It was paying off, well maybe it was more about Atticus' regime and not Matthew's encouragement, but whatever it was- Atticus was on fire. He won his first round match with flying colors, which prompted Mary and Matthew to head to London. Matthew had originally been planning on heading to London closer to the final, but he was frankly too excited to wait longer.

A car had picked him up at the airport to take him to Mary's family's house in London. He hadn't been surprised that the Crawley's had a family home in London, but he was surprised when the car pulled up outside a house in Belgravia.

"Of course, the Crawley's would own a property in Eaton Square," Matthew said, after giving Mary a kiss for greeting as she met him at the street.

"Does that shock you?" Mary asked, rather disbelieving.

"It probably shouldn't be at this point," Matthew acknowledged.

"We're hardly ever here," Mary told him, "But it's nice to have a place in London to stay when we pop in. And this is where we grew up. Before we moved to New York."

"Quaint," Matthew said, looking around the block of white houses lining the square.

Mary shrugged, as she took his hand to lead him in, "It's been in the family for years. I'm sure there were actual neighbors here at some point, but now it's located between an embassy and the property of a Saudi oil tycoon who is never around."

"I'm sure they are charming," Matthew teased, as he walked into the building. It was grand, decorated a bit ostentatiously with lots of glittering pieces of furniture and valuables. It was evident that it wasn't Mary's décor style. It was grand, oozing with the implication of the Crawley wealth.

"We've actually got to hurry a tiny bit if we want to make it in time," Mary explained, "I know it looks like we have loads of time, but the traffic is dreadful and Wimbledon is quite a bit outside of London proper. It's not like this is something we can miss."

"I would die to miss it," Matthew said, "Even if it is just the second round."

"Then lets put your stuff into our room," Mary encouraged, "Then you can grab a shower and change, before heading to the stadium?"

"Sounds perfect," Matthew said, as Mary began to lead him up the stairs. "Who else is here?"

"Right now?" Mary said, steering him toward a large bedroom, "Just us. If Atticus makes it to the next round, Sybil and Larry will join us. By the way, I thought it might be nice to invite Tom? We should thank him for helping Sybil in DC. They seem to get on well. Plus, he plays tennis with you, so I figured it might be rude not to have him."

"That's brilliant, Mary," Matthew said, giving her his widest smile. "Tom's mad about tennis. He'd be so shocked for that."

"Good. I'll trust you to invite him. There should be room for him. We've loads of bedrooms. If Atticus makes it to the semi-final, then mother is also likely to come stay. Same with Anna and Giovanni. Maybe Jack and Evelyn too. Papa may join us for the final, but honestly it's a long shot."

"Your father?" Matthew repeated, walking into the room (this one was much more minimalistic than the rest, with Mary's signature precision for details and colors- a room that was obviously hers).

Robert Crawley CEO was still a mystery to Matthew. While he'd met Cora and Sybil a few times, the CEO remained elusive. From what it sounded like, Robert was rarely around his family and limited the majority of communication to e-mail. In fact, this was one of very few times that Mary had mentioned him.

"He's all work," Mary explained, "One of these days I'm sure his health will punish him for his terrible combination of being a workaholic, caffeine addict, and having far too much money than is good for anyone. But until then, it's e-mails from Robert Crawley CEO."

Matthew laughed knowingly, as he dropped his suitcase on the floor beside the large bed with it's white duvet, adorned with blue and orange accent pillows. It seemed so comfortable- he couldn't help but flop onto it.

Mary let out a bubble of laughter, before flopping beside him.

"Matthew," she said, nudging him, "Go shower."

"Hmmm, tempting," He said, before placing a kiss on her lips, "But what if I'd rather do this?"

Mary indulged him for a moment, her tongue working his mouth open, her hips pressing into his. For a moment, he thought that she was going to continue, but then-

"Stop," Mary said, pulling away, a coy smile on her face, "You'll make me untidy."

"Good," replied Matthew, giving her a grin.

Then a shadow passed over her face. A crinkle set in between her two delicate eyebrows.

"You don't mind that, do you?" She asked, softly.

"Mind what, love?" He replied, doting a kiss to her nose.

She took a breath and then exhaled.

"Do you mind that everyone thinks we're sleeping together, but we aren't?" She said, her voice quiet.

"We have been sleeping in the same bed whenever we visit," Matthew said.

"You that's not what I meant," Mary said.

"Mary, please, we've been over this," Matthew said, his heart breaking at her fear.

"I know," Mary said, "But you know my reputation. You know what everyone must be thinking about us."

He put a kiss in her hair, letting his hands rise to take her face.

"Mary, I couldn't care less what people think of us," Matthew explained, "So what if they think we're having sex? I'm not upset that we aren't. I know you'll tell me when you feel less anxious about it."

She sat up, "Are you sure?"

"Of course, I'm sure," He said, sitting up beside her, running a hand through her hair, "I'm always sure about you, Mary."

She put a small chaste kiss on his lips, "Okay, no more sap, go shower. I'll make you a cappuccino for the drive over."

He gave her small salute and crooked smile, before heading into the en suite.

* * *

 

Then life launched back into blurr mode. Mary and Matthew attended the match that evening. To everyone's delight and not much surprise, Atticus won his match. As much as Mary loved having the house to themselves, Sybil, Larry, and Tom arrived bringing new energy. They went to Wimbledon most days to watch the tennis, even if Atticus wasn't playing- they wanted to know who he would play against in the upcoming rounds. It was exhilarating to experience it all- the uproar then the promising Serbian player got out early in the tournament, the surprise when a Swiss player got out earlier than expected. They'd chat with Rose while there. She was devoutly focused to Atticus' success. They had their own apartment in London, separate from the Crawley's, as Atticus couldn't be distracted by anything. After his disaster at the French Open, his ranking had dropped immensely. He needed to do well on grass to make a come back.

After taking in the sport, the small group would take turns taking each other to their favorite spots in London- bars, parks, restaurants, museums with late hours. Mary hadn't lived in London since she was a girl, but she had picked up favorite places to visit on all of her trips back. Sybil found a way to drag them into painting a mural at a park in dodgier part of London one late afternoon. Matthew met up one afternoon with some old friends from Oxford, who were the sort of genuinely kind and thoughtful people she could imagine Matthew being friends with.

Even Larry seemed more tolerable than usual, surprising them all by hosting a party on the London Eye. It was both ostentatious and touristy, things that normally would make Mary cringe. But Mary was full of optimism and kindness, products of being surrounded by love and friendship- which allowed her to forgive Larry for his pretentiousness.

Tom and Matthew got on well. Mary liked seeing him with his best friend. They had inside jokes she didn't know and stories that they mentioned in hushed voices with laughter after- but she didn't mind it. She liked that comradarey, it reminded her of her friendship with Anna. On the other hand, there was something particularly awkward between Sybil and Tom. Sybil seemed to be going out of her way to avoid Tom. Mary wondered if she had maybe made the wrong call to invite the man who been her sister's knight in shining armor.

When Atticus made it to the quarter final, England went wild. The whole country seemed brimming with excitement. Atticus was theirs and to have him win on home tuff would mean everything. Anna and Giovanni flew in from Rome. They celebrated Atticus' victory in the quarterfinal by cooking a delicious Italian dinner for all those staying the house on Eaton Square.

However, the cooking ceased when Cora arrived for the semi-final, bringing along the family cook and a small staff to maintain the building. Jack Ross arrived, as did Evelyn. Realizing they had extra space, and as a gesture of good-will, Mary invited Duke Crowborough and Thom Barrow. She hoped that might help the public make peace with the fact that she was truly over their parting.

It was through these two weeks of thorough joy that Mary felt herself finally separating herself from the pain of the winter. She had been with Matthew for almost two months now. Things were good, really good. She was beginning to believe that Matthew might be able to touch with her without feeling Kamal's grimy hands. She was beginning to believe that she could let Matthew take the relationship further without her stomach clenching for a betrayal like Tony's. She was beginning to trust again. She was beginning to love again.

So when it was confirmed that Atticus would be playing the Wimbledon final, she began to wonder where this refreshingly positive outlook might take them next.

* * *

 

Mary dressed carefully for the final. She knew that they'd been there each day, but that the final was covered more extensively and it was more than likely that she and Matthew would grace televisions world wide during some strategic crowd shots. She had a dress made for this occasion weeks ago, just in case. It was navy, with scalloped cap sleeves and hemline. Matthew's navy suit would look nice alongside it. She used her nicest make up to craft her look. It was a warm day, so she wore her hair up in a classy bun. She found a handbag that matched, but could also store Daisy. She had called ahead weeks before the tournament to guarantee that her rabbit would be allowed entrance.

"Are you nearly ready?" Asked Matthew, exited the bathroom.

Mary gave him a smile, turning once in the mirror to take in her look.

"I think so," She said, "And you?"

She turned to him now. His navy suit brought out the blue in his eyes, which were always striking, but today particularly more than ever. His golden hair was combed into a neat looking professional look. A light blue tie hung around his neck, a tad crooked. Mary leaned over to straighten it.

He pressed a kiss to her lips, "I think I'll do."

"As do I," Mary said, taking his hand.

"Though I'm terribly nervous for Atticus," Matthew remarked, wringing his hands.

"Don't be," Mary said, taking one of his hands in hers, as they made their way down to the ground floor, "He's made it this far. We'll be proud of him regardless."

"Ah, there you are," Cora said, "I've fixed the cars. We'll ride four a piece. I'm going with Sybil, Larry, and Tom. Jack, Evelyn, Duke and his boyfriend will take another. What's his name again?"

Mary sighed, "Thom."

"Right. Well, you two can go with Anna and Giovanni," Cora directed.

"Sounds lovely," Mary agreed, then paused before asking, "Papa, isn't coming is he?"

Cora gave a chagrinned frown, "Sorry, dear, he's in Hong Kong for a meeting. He couldn't make it."

Mary's heart sunk a hair. It had been a while since she saw her father. She was very much past the days of her life where her father's absence was a major disappointment to her, but she still felt disgruntled that he wasn't here. Was anything important enough for him?

"Too bad for him, missing such brilliant tennis," she shrugged, as she pulled Matthew towards the car where their friends were waiting.

Anna looked stunning as always, in a white lace dress, her blond hair curled loosely. Giovanni beside her was dressed in a crisp black suit.

"You both look brilliant," Mary said.

"Thanks," Anna said.

"So what do you think?" Giovanni asked, with his heavy Italian accent, "Do you think that Atticus Alridge will beat that Canadian player?"

"Well, with some many twists and turns this year, who can tell," Matthew commented on the opponent, "But I think Atticus has a good chance. He'll have the crowd on his side."

"We'll have to celebrate him regardless," Mary said, "He's family. We'll be proud of him either way."

Mary watched as Matthew gapped at her in small awe. _Family_. She considered him part of her family now. It was the kind of statement that should have frightened her to say normally, but it didn't now. She knew that was exactly right- the words flying out her mouth without regret. He _was_ part of make-shift family that was bigger than her blood. It was a group of friends, of people who genuinely cared for each other in profound ways. Of course, Matthew was part of that.

She watched him gracefully closed his mouth and she kissed his cheek. His arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her closer. She nestled her head onto his shoulder as the drive began.

The caravan of hired cars arrived at the stadium through a special entrance for distinguished guests. Rose was standing their waiting for them.

"I'm so please you all arrived," she said, giving her aunt and cousins kisses on the cheek.

"Where is Atticus?" Cora asked, her face wrinkled as she searched about for him.

"Sorry Aunt Cora, Atticus can't come see you before the match. He is getting focused and warming up," Rose explained. "I'm actually about to go and check on him. I'll be sitting in the Royal Box for the match."

"That's outstanding, Rose," Sybil ooed, "You'll have to take loads of selfies with the princess."

Rose laughed, "We'll see. Regardless of what happens there is going to be a huge party in Atticus's honor tonight. Everyone who is everyone will be there, so you all are very welcome."

"We'll be there," Mary said, clasping her hand, "This whole motely crew."

Rose gave her a smile, "I hardly would regard you bunch of musicians, designers, and politicians as motely, Mary. But we'll be honored to see you then non-the-less."

"Tell Atticus we say good luck," Matthew said.

"I will," Rose said, "Enjoy the match! See you later!"

They made their way to their seats. They were good seats, situated right in the center. The Crawley's owned them, which is how they'd been able to attend all of Atticus's games.

Mary was seated between Matthew and Anna.

"Do you want me to grab you a drink?" Mary asked, "It is rather warm."

"No, I'm too nervous," Matthew whispered. Mary exchanged a smirk with Anna. There was something terribly endearing about seeing Matthew so nervous about tennis.

"Look, there he is!" Anna said, excitedly.

Atticus walked onto the court to huge applause. The crowd, full of England's most important people, clearly wanted him to win. Mary felt a well of pride for Atticus. Regardless of how he would play today, he had united people for a common hope.

The other player walked on to small applause. Mary imagined that if this was America there would be loud boos. She recalled that from university football matches. But here there were polite claps, despite the fact that the entire audience hoped he would lose.

There was a brief warm up before the match began. Matthew grabbed Mary's hand, holding on tightly, as she placed a reassuring kiss on his cheek.

Tennis was one of the few sports she could tolerate watching. She was very blessed that her cousin was with a tennis player, and not some golfer or gran prix racer. Tennis didn't drag on like golf, or terrify her like racing. Mary had grown up attending tennis tournaments. It was the sort of gentleman's sport that the Crawley's could be seen attending. There was a cleverness to it that Mary loved to engage in, guessing how the player would challenge the next. It wasn't a sport of brauniness, but agility, intelligence, and strength.

Mary had liked watching Atticus play before he had begun to date Rose, so she had been nothing but delighted at their relationship. Still now, after several years of Atticus being part of the family, she enjoyed watching him play immensely. His fast and powerful serves were thrilling. He was smart, good at confusing opponents. He was nimble, as well, traversing the court easily.

Despite all of this, Atticus managed to lose the first set.

"It's still anyone's game, Matthew," Mary soothed, as she watched Matthew's face crumple.

"If anyone can make a comeback, its Atticus," Tom reaffirmed from behind them.

Mary watched Rose from across the court. Her face carried no trace of worry. Her blonde hair was up in a sophisticated bun, with springs dancing around her face. She was dressed in a mint dress with a pattern of white flowers across it. Mary traced Rose's gaze to where she exchanged an encouraging smile with Atticus below. Then she was turning to whisper something to the Princess.

"Rose doesn't look worried," Mary commented.

Matthew nodded stiffly.

"Then lets not worry either," Anna encouraged, "Send him all our positive thoughts, shall we?"

The second set began with Mary clutching Matthew's hand tighter than ever as Atticus lost the first two games. Yet then, Atticus turned it around to win the rest of the set and propelled the game into a third set tiebreaker.

Atticus took an easy lead at the beginning of the tiebreaker. In the middle, it seemed as his Canadian opponent would win. Atticus managed the comeback and won.

"He won!" Exclaimed Matthew with pure glee, turning to Mary to kiss her full on. She tried to hold back her giggles at how madly delighted Matthew looked. After all, Mary herself was ecstatic.

Atticus was lying on the court, a giddy grin plastered on his face as he relished his victory. Rose's face was awash in excitement and glowing with pride. The stadium was rising to their feet to applaud. There was a ceremony with a trophy and flowers and clapping and…

Just like that the beautiful blurr whisked them somehow to the party. Rose, too caught up with Atticus, texted them the address. They were whisked away in their cars there. It was held in an estate, in nearby Richmond Park, done up with decorations. There were outdoor tents and sparkling lights and cupcakes that looked like tennis balls. Mary wasn't sure who was paying for it- it wasn't the Crawley's, surprisingly. She knew that Atticus himself came from quite a bit of money, so she supposed that maybe his own family had hosted it.

The party was star-studded, so she spent the first hour milling about with Matthew on his arm. She introduced him to acquaintances- film stars, musicians, models, athletes, and a few others like her who were famous for no other reason than being related to someone with an absorbent amount of money. Matthew took it like a champ, being endearingly charming to each person he greeted. She wondered if he was fazed to meet so many famous people at once. It was normal for her, but she suspected this was slightly out of the ordinary for him.

When there was a lag in socializing, Mary snagged a bottle of champagne, two flutes, and dragged Matthew off to an unoccupied balcony. She wasn't entirely sure if it was a part of the house they were allowed to be in, but she wanted some peace with Matthew.

"How are you holding up?" Mary asked.

"Me? I'm swell," Matthew said, "I do wish we'd get a chance to congratulate Atticus."

There had unfortunately been a swarm of people surrounding the Wimbledon champion since they arrived.

"I'm sure they'll be time later," Mary confirmed, "You aren't overwhelmed with celebrities, are you? We can go if it is too much."

"No, not at all! We just had a conversation with an actor from my favorite movie," Matthew enthused, "Besides, I did a bit of this with Lavinia. I'll survive."

Mary perched the two flutes on the ledge of the balcony, pouring champagne into them. She passed Matthew a glass, before turning to lean forward against the stone ledge, looking out over the grounds. The woods were dark in the night. She could hear music, provided by a hired big band playing jazz standards, wafting out over the lawn and trees.

"You know," Mary said, "My sister is having her wedding at an old estate like this."

"Is she?" Asked Matthew.

"It's a few hours west of London, in Berkshire," Mary explained, "It looks lovely in the pictures. It would be a rather splendid place to have a wedding. I'm not quite sure it is Sybil's taste, but it is very fairytale-like, so I think she'll like that."

"I can't wait to see it," Matthew said, putting his flute down to wrap an arm around Mary.

"Actually, Sybil, Larry, and Mother are off to visit it tomorrow," Mary told him, "So, I'm sure we'll find out more about it soon."

"Mmm," Matthew hummed, dipping his face into her hair to kiss it. "I've really enjoyed being here with you the last week or so."

"Me too," Mary whispered back, putting down her champagne to wrap her arms around him.

"But secretly, I'll be quite happy when we have time for just us," Matthew admitted, "I like spending time with just you."

Mary pressed his lips to his. His lips parted, as his free hand began to card through her hair. Mary sighed as the back of his hand brushed against her neck.

"Do you think," Mary said, lightly, "If we left now, we'd make it home before anyone got there?"

"Why would that matter?" Matthew asked.

Mary let her eyebrows raise in a way that she hoped looked coy, letting a sly grin creep across her mouth.

"Oh," Matthew said, "Oh. Are you sure, Mary? We have forever. We don't have to do this tonight."

Mary kissed him again, letting him press her lower back into the balcony. His mouth moved her neck, the light scratch of his scruff tickling her sensitive neck.

"I want tonight," she whispered into his ear.

He kissed her again, his teeth scrapping lighting.

"I want you," she whispered.

He moved to kiss her lips again, his hands wrapping around her back, holding her tight, holding her close to him.

"I want it all," she whispered to him.

"Then," He said, kissing above her ear, "Let's," He kissed the top of her forehead, "Go."

They left the half drunk bottle of champagne and the flutes on the balcony, and began to retrace their steps out of the party.

They passed through a large hall where people were dancing to a jazz band. Some people were rather good, swinging each other around and doing trick steps. There were others seated on luxurious couches, drinking champagne and chatting. It was a lively sight, which made Mary almost want to stay longer.

Rose and Atticus were standing in the center of a large hall. Matthew approached them.

"You were brilliant," He told Atticus sincerely, shaking his hand.

"Well, all your inspirational text messages definitely helped my mindset," Atticus replied, "Thank you for that, Matthew."

"You _really_ were brilliant," Mary affirmed, "We are all really proud to have you as part of the family."

Atticus leaned forward to Mary's ear, "So you wouldn't mind if I, say, wanted to join you all permanently."

"You mean you are going to propose?" Mary whispered, feeling a rush of excitement for her cousin.

Atticus tossed her wink, "I don't want to steal Sybil's thunder. So it won't be for a bit, but it's in the works."

Mary grinned back.

Rose, who'd been talking to Jack Ross, an old friend of hers, turned back to them. She had evidently missed what Atticus had said. Mary had to fight the urge to begin celebrating already.

"Did you have a good time?" Rose asked.

"This was a lovely party," Mary told her.

"Good, I'm so glad," Rose ooed.

"We're going to head out now," Mary informed her cousin, kissing her cheek, "But I'll talk to you soon. Enjoy the rest of your party, Atticus."

"Thank you, Mary, Matthew," He said, nodding at each of them.

They sauntered through the hall. Mary felt a joy buzz throughout her. They were on their way home. They were finally going to come together. She was finally ready. It felt as if nothing could touch her anymore. There was no room for darkness or anger or hurt in anymore. Mary was about to keep going through the door, when Matthew tugged on her hand.

"Mary, would you indulge me in a dance before we leave?" Matthew asked, opening his arms.

She smiled and nodded. Everything seemed sparkly and starlit in this place, she would gladly share a dance with Matthew before their night began.

She stepped into his embrace and began to sway with him gently. Neither of them were swing dancers, but the music was slow enough to get away with dancing like this.

"I just," Matthew began, "I just wanted a moment more to show you off to the world."

Mary looked up at him, her heart swelling.

"Mary, I can't begin to tell you how precious the last few months have been to me. I can't begin to tell you how precious you are to me Mary."

"You're precious to me too," Mary told him, "I'm constantly surprised that someone as smart, as caring as you, has found me."

"I just wish I'd found you sooner," Matthew said, kissing her neck.

He nuzzled his head into her neck. She closed her eyes and relaxed into the moment. She was safe. She was treasured. It felt so good.

"Shit."

Mary blinked her eyes open.

"Don't look behind you, Mary," Matthew said, "Please don't. Just keep your eyes on me."

She felt her forehead crinkle. "What is it, Matthew? What's wrong?"

Mary couldn't help it. Curiosity tugged her head to turn, to glance behind herself. The sight she found there gave her a shiver down her whole body.

_No, it couldn't be, not here. Not now. Not them._

"Shit," Mary echoed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Next chapter a lot of things that you've been waiting for will happen- sooooo get pumped (and be mindful that the rating may change to M... but a rather discrete M).


	13. Chapter 13: Phase 13- Overcome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look who's back! I've been in Ireland for a week and a half now and starting to settle in a bit. My schedule is still a little topsy turvy as I get used to my job, but I've definitely been making time for writing. I'm still 5 chapters ahead as usual and starting to near the end (woah). But not to worry there are still many adventures left before the story comes to end. Till then, enjoy this chapter- one of my favorites.

Chapter 13: Phase Thirteen- Overcome

 

Mary Crawley had never thought she'd ever see Kamal Pamuk again. She also thought that she would never see Tony Fucking Foyle again. But there they were, chatting away in the middle of Atticus's party as if they weren't the very embodiment of walking evil.

She was welling up with anger. She hated them. They had both individually hurt her in huge ways. Seeing them brought the trauma back, waves of it rushing through her body.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to lash out. She wanted step on their toes, punch them in the face. She wanted them to understand what they did to her. She wanted them to suffer as she did. But she couldn't. She couldn't ever make them understand the way their influence destroyed her emotionally, destroyed her publically.

"Mary," Matthew's voice said urgently, "Look here. Look at me."

He ran his hands down her arms in a comforting gesture, before taking her hands. He kissed them gently, his voice soft.

"Mary," He said, "Your hands are shaking. It's okay. Let's leave, darling?"

She wanted to throw up. She wanted to melt into a puddle on the ground. She wanted to stop moving, stop trying. She wanted to faint, to disappear. She wanted escape.

Matthew must have felt her sway, because his rushed over her with fear in his eyes, "Are you dizzy? We can sit down. I can get you water. Just breathe, Mary, start with breathing."

Mary took a sharp inhale and let the room come back into focus. Matthew was right. She needed to calm down.

When her breath was even, she dared another glance over her shoulder. The two men where watching her now, their eyes on her, smirks on their faces. She gulped.

She looked around. Had people noticed them? Had they noticed her looking? Where was her mother? Her sister? Did Rose know they were here? Mary's mind reeled, trying to figure out which potential publicity disaster that could arise from this.

"Let's just get out of here," Matthew suggested.

He was right. It made sense to leave. They could walk out and be in the car in a second, whirling through London streets. They'd be back to the Eaton Square house in less than a half hour. Then, they could get onto the delicious plans that Mary had envisioned for evening.

The thought seemed indulgent. She knew those plans had vanished now, as she was forced to rehash trauma she thought she could escape.

At least home would be safe. She wouldn't have to see _them_ there.

 _Go home, Mary. Don't make a scene,_ she thought to herself.

But she wanted to make a scene. The anger was still rippling through her. It couldn't be quelled by simply fleeing. She wanted them to know that what they did wasn't okay. She wanted them to feel embarrassed. She didn't want to cower and run. She wanted to throw it right back in their faces.

So that was what she was going to do.

She took a step towards Matthew, placed her hands on his cheeks, and put a huge kiss full on his lips. She hoped that they saw.

"I'll be right back, then we can go home," Mary said, her voice suddenly strong and sure of herself.

"Mary, wait, no-" Matthew began.

Mary ignored his protests and strode towards the men. She watched as surprised flashed in their eyes. They clearly never thought she was going to walk over. The only thing that flashed in Mary's eyes was fire. She was mad. She wanted them to know.

She squared her shoulders and tossed her hair. Then she began.

"So," Mary said, "I just couldn't help but be interested in this little meeting of the 'We Fucked Over Mary Crawley's Life' club. I was just so curious about what you might be talking about. Kamal, were you telling my friend Tony here about how you sexually assaulted me in an elevator and then hired photographers to capture it, no doubt for your own personal gain? Or were you, Tony, telling Kamal about you lied to me for weeks and then publically ruined my reputation? What you did was inexcusable, both of you. It messed up my life, my reputation. I had to rebuild my life twice because of what you did. I hope and I pray that you never, ever do what you did to me to any other woman."

Mary caught her breath, the words had come out of her as if she had rehearsed them, but in reality, they were rolling off her tongue freely. Around, her people were quieting, intrigued no doubt because of the spectacle. She noticed a few people with their iPhones out. But she didn't care- let them watch.

"But here is the thing," Mary said, "I'm not saying that I'm grateful for what you did, because what you did was disgusting, but I'm grateful that the pain you caused me has silver lining. I've found Matthew now and he is incredible. He cares more about the world than you will ever imagine. More importantly, he cares more about me than you ever possibly could. And you know what? It's damn well time that I have someone in my life who cares about me."

Mary paused for a moment to take in Tony and Kamal's faces. They were awash with mortification.

"I'm going home now with my amazing boyfriend. I hope you have fun fucking yourselves. Good night," She snapped, before turning on her heel.

Around her she heard murmurs of people whispering about what had just happened, but Mary didn't care. She had done what she had been dying to do for months. She grabbed Matthew arm and began tugging him to the door. Now they needed to get out of there before anything else happened. She felt genuinely bad that she made a scene at Atticus's party.

"Sorry," Matthew said, pausing, "One second. I've something to do before we leave."

Matthew turned and walked across the hall back to Kamal and Tony, who were still looking dumbstruck. She was frozen in her spot, as she watched it happen. Then all of sudden, in a quick one-two, Matthew was punching them both right in the face.

Mary let out a little gasp. It was the most un-Matthew Crawley like thing she'd ever seen. It was perfect.

Then Matthew was striding towards her, she was grabbing his hand and then were running out of the hall.

They exploded into the chilly night air. She could hear a moment of silence from within the hall, undoubtedly shocked at Matthew's behavior, before it erupted once again into sound.

"I can't believe I did that," Matthew said.

"Neither can I," Mary agreed, thinking of both herself and him, "Did I really say 'Have fun fucking yourself?' God, I don't think I've ever said anything so unprofessional."

"You were brilliant," Matthew said, "I'm really happy you finally tore them down. They needed to be told off."

"Come on. Let's find the car and get out of here before _The Sun_ shows up," Mary said, scanning the row of black cars to find her driver.

"Do you mind what I did?" Matthew asked, pointing at a familiar looking vehicle.

"It was rather rash," she commented, as she took his hand and began to walk towards the car.

"I realize you probably don't want or need me to defend you like that. It's not the turn of the century. I know you can handle yourself. It's just that- It's just that it's not fair what they did to you. I get so angry about it."

They stepped into the car. Matthew sat right up next to her, his arms wrapping around her. She wrapped her arms back around him. She was shocked by Matthew, but not upset. She didn't mind at all if he wanted to punch the men that had ruined her life.

"You deserve so much good," Matthew told her, "Those men should have never gotten to touch you. They should have never gotten to hurt you."

Somewhere after that, Mary began to cry. Not sobs, but tiny tears glistening in her eyes. She felt a lump of emotion settle in her throat. She had just felt so upset at seeing Tony and Pamuk- then so surprised at her own courage, then shocked at Matthew's. It was a lot to feel in less than five minutes.

The pads of Matthew's thumbs traced under her eyes, catching tears silently.

"You know that you are always safe with me," Matthew whispered, his voice soothing, "You know that you are cherished by me. You know that I am never going to hurt you or let you go."

Mary did know that. She trusted him so thoroughly and adored him so entirely.

"I meant everything I said about you," Mary mumbled, "You were the silver lining of all that pain."

Matthew kissed her forehead.

"And you," He said, "Are the greatest gift my life has been given."

* * *

 

"Sybil, you've been avoiding me and you know it," Tom said.

Tom had finally sequestered Sybil away, after trying to steal her away all week. It was only tonight, after the commotion at Atticus's party had sent the Crawley family scattered. While Atticus and Rose were forced to stay, Sybil and Tom had both darted out not longer after Mary and Matthew made their dramatic exit. Tom was worried about the pair, and so undoubtedly was Sybil. It had made sense for the two of them to jump in the same hired car.

But now, things were more awkward. Just the two of them in the car with a likely 30-minute car ride ahead of them and no escape.

"I'm not avoiding you, Tom," Sybil said, rolling her eyes.

"Oh you aren't? So what? I helped you in DC and then you just didn't talk to me for a month and a half?" Tom shot.

"Oh is that it? Do I owe you now? I'm sorry I didn't realize you were that sort of person Tom," Sybil said.

Her voice was angry now. Tom had seen Sybil joyful, worried, terrified, relieved, and content. But he had never seen her angry till now. It was a strange emotion on someone so typically happy and bubbly. Which meant this was all the more serious.

"What? No! No, that's not what I mean," Tom protested, "I just meant it seemed like we were friends that weekend."

"Well, I had just been mugged and you were literally the only person I knew in the city, who by some insane stroke of luck I happened to tumble into," Sybil shrugged. "It was generous of you to help me. Truly, I'm grateful. But you can't just assume that means we're close friends. Before this last week, we'd literally only seen each other twice."

"We used to text and call each other," Tom pointed out, "Did that mean nothing to you?"

"What did you think they meant?" Sybil asked, "Tom, I'm engaged. Larry is my future. I've got volunteering to do and a wedding to plan."

"So you must have time to answer my texts," Tom offered.

"What if I just don't want to?" Sybil said spitefully.

"And now you've hardly talked to me since we've been here," Tom pointed out.

"So? Is that my job?" Sybil said, her voice tight.

"I just don't see what's changed between us," Tom said.

"That's the problem," Sybil snapped, "There was never anything between us to change."

There was a moment of silence in the car. Tom was frustrated. He and Sybil had seemed like real friends that weekend in DC, but maybe it was only because she was so frightened. Maybe she didn't actually care about him, or want to be his friend.

Regardless, there was something he had to tell her. It had been on his mind for the last month and a half. It was the reason he was so frustrated that she wouldn't reply back to his texts.

"Listen, Sybil, even if you won't be my friend," Tom said, "You must know that there was something really fishy about you getting mugged that day."

"I don't want to hear it," Sybil said.

"You need to. Sybil, when we visited the police office the next day, they asked if they could keep your wallet for a few days to test it for finger prints," Tom began.

"Yeah and they sent it back to me a few days later," Sybil interrupted, "They said there was nothing to report."

"There was nothing to report because there were no finger prints on the wallet," Tom said, "Whoever mugged you didn't even look at your wallet."

"So?" Sybil shrugged.

"Syb, you're smart. Don't do this. Mary's theory was that someone looked at your cards, got spooked, and left the bag. But that didn't happen. They didn't even look at your identity cards," Tom said, "So they must have known who you were."

"That's nuts, Tom," Sybil said, "And who would want to mug a young woman just to scare her?"

"Someone who didn't want you to move to DC?" Tom offered, "Someone who knew where your interview was, someone who knew if you had just a hint of a bad memory you wouldn't look back."

Sybil was silent for a moment and gulped.

"You can't possibly believe that," Sybil said.

"But I can! Have you heard the things that guy has said to you? Discouraging you from your aspirations? Telling you to stay home and not worry about a career?" Tom protested.

"I've known Larry for over a year," Sybil said, "I've only known you a few months. Sorry, but who do you think I'm going to trust?"

"Exactly, you've only known him for year," Tom said, "How can you possibly know?"

Sybil sighed, then softened her demeanor.

"Tom, I know you really care about me," Sybil said, "And if you care about me- you must know that Larry is right for me. I love him. I'm going to marry him. I know that you and I haven't spent a lot of time together, but I know, I was- I don't know. I was a little fragile in DC, so I might have clung to you in a way that might have given you the idea that there was the possibility of something between us."

She bit her lip and gave him an apologetic smile, "Sorry, but there isn't."

"Right," Tom said, stunned, "Sorry, I said anything."

Tom didn't know how she could do it. Larry seemed so wrong for her. It wasn't just that their personalities didn't work- there was something more. There was something menacing about him. He worried about Larry's influence on Sybil's dreams. Sybil was smart. She deserved a future that was more than bits of volunteer work or idleness. Sybil was made to do great things. He didn't want her aspirations to end early.

He felt helpless. He knew he couldn't talk to her about it again. There wasn't anything he could do to make her listen.

As the car rolled up to the curb and let them out, Tom lingered for a moment in the car- letting Sybil get out before him. He watched her walk into the house.

She had been right. He did have feelings for her. He had adored her the moment he saw her in that wedding gown. When she tumbled into his arms in DC, it had seemed like a beautiful miracle. He hadn't minded taking care of her, hanging out with her on the couch like a real couple might.

He couldn't understand what changed between them after that night. He hadn't done anything untoward. He hadn't hurt her or done anything really. The only answer he could suppose was that Sybil had realized that he had feelings for her and decided the best medicine for him was distance.

 _Forget her,_ Tom told himself. _Forget Larry. Forget the whole thing._

If he kept trying to convince her that Larry was corrupt, he would only make a fool of himself. He couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't put his heart out there. It wasn't enough.

He watched the light in Sybil's room turn on and then he exited the car. He was happy for his early morning flight the next day. He needed to be gone.

Mary and Matthew put off their plans for that night. They were exhausted and shaking and exhilarated by what had happened at the party. There were no words uttered between them as they made their way to their bedroom and dressed for bed. Mary was grateful that Matthew didn't ask about her previous intentions. It meant that more than ever they were on the same page. They lay in bed that night and held each other tightly. The house was quiet, as everyone was still at the party. So they fell asleep just the two of them in their large, empty house feeling both weak and invincible, both weary and thoroughly together.

* * *

 

Mary woke the next morning to the sounds of house in motion. All the guests were leaving that morning, meaning the house would truly be empty and theirs soon. Mary could hear her mother fussing over travel plans with Sybil and Larry. They would be going to the Berkshires to visit the wedding venue. Mary knew that Tom had left even earlier in the morning for his flight back to New York. Jack and Evelyn, who were both based in Los Angeles, would be flying out later that day. Anna and Giovanni had sadly had to leave just after the match the day before in order to be home in time for work. Duke and Thom had left early in the morning for a holiday in Spain, which Mary was grateful for. As much as she liked the opportunity to extend an olive branch to her ex, she was happy for him to live his own life. Mary was grateful that Matthew somehow had a work meeting in London for the following day, so that could arrange for them an extra day for themselves in the city.

Hearing everyone awake and rearing for the day only made Mary want to stay in bed more. She had a bone-tired exhaustion that she couldn't seem to shake. She assumed it must be from hosting people for over a week now, plus the anxiety of the match and the emotional rollercoaster that was Atticus's party.

She was trying to determine if Matthew was awake (and if she could get away with falling back to sleep), when he whispered, "Are you awake?"

"No," Mary whispered back, snuggling down into arms, which were conveniently around her.

His head tucked into her neck, giving a gentle nuzzle, "Mary, I know you are up."

"Hmm, I'm not, let's sleep longer," she said, burrowing into her boyfriend.

She braced herself for Matthew to argue, but he didn't. He simply kissed her hair and let her drift off.

She dreamt about wandering around in this house as a small child, opening up room after room that she didn't know existed. Everything was dusty in this new space, but as she dusted them they became new again. It was a long and dizzying dream, as rooms continued to unfold in a labyrinth.

It was finally much later, when she awoke to Matthew's lips on her cheek.

"Darling, wake up," He whispered in her ear.

She blinked awake, "Hmm, why?'

"It's late afternoon," Matthew said, "I know you are tired, but I'm starting to worry about you."

"Oh God, I'm sorry," Mary sat up, surprised and glancing frantically at the clock, "I must have been so tired from the past few weeks."

Matthew sat up next to her and ran a soothing hand up and down her arm. "It's okay, Mary. Hosting people _is_ exhausting. As is watching high stakes tennis. As is dealing with your exes. As is your boyfriend punching said exes publically."

"Right, that, I'd nearly forgotten," Mary said, the events of the last day coming back to her, "Well, what's the fall out look like?"

"Mmm," Matthew said, taking his phone from the nightstand, "Let's see. I've been avoiding my phone for hours now."

"Have you really just laid here, watching me sleep?" Mary asked, combing a hand through her hair.

"Would it be terribly creepy?" Matthew asked.

"Hmm, no," Mary decided, "It's probably better than dealing with the tabloid frenzy. Shall we take a peek now? We must face it sometime."

"I suppose," Matthew said wearily.

She watched him turn on his phone. It was instantly inundated with text messages.

"Crikey," Matthew groaned, "From these texts here, it says we're trending on Facebook and Twitter."

Mary grabbed his phone to flick through the tweets:

_Really? You'd think Mary's new UN lawyer boy would be a little classier #lawdegreeforwhat?_

_Mary Crawley is such a mess someone put her out of her misery_

_Typical Mary Crawley making Atticus Aldridges Party about her #selfishwhore_

_Mary literally ruined Tony's marriage then yelled in his face. Bitch. #teamtony_

_When is Mary Crawley going to grow up? She has the maturity of a 13-year old girl #chillplz #doless_

"Oh shit," Mary breathed, "This is such a mess. I never should have done that."

"But, no, look, there are some good ones," Matthew said, "See these ones."

_Good for Mary Crawley! I think we've all wanted to do that our exes at some point #nojudgement_

_Let's be honest: we all wish we could be Mary Crawley #damngirl #takenoshit_

_I'm not sure why I'm more jealous of Mary Crawley: her badassery or her boyfriend_

_I've watched the video of Matthew punching Tony like 10 times now #fuckmeup_

_It's official Matthew Crawley is the BEST boyfriend ever #jealous #lawyerup_

"Be careful," Mary laughed, "I'm a bit worried about those last few."

"Don't worry darling, I'm quite positive you have no competition," He said lightly, kissing her forehead.

He looked through his phone, "There is, however, an e-mail from your father."

Mary felt a shiver roll through her. She had wondered early on, when her father sent her those Make-Matthew-Fall-In-Love-With-You-Emails, if Matthew was being sent them too. That had been one of the reasons she had been so hesitant to put her heart out there- what if his feelings were disingenuine? She'd ceased to believe that since, as Matthew really seemed to love her. But now she felt that old fear flicker up insider her.

"Does my father e-mail you often?" Mary asked.

"Hmm?" Matthew mused, opening the e-mail, "Not too often. In the beginning, he'd send me instructions about what to expect with you."

"What do you mean?" Mary asked, trying to keep her voice calm.

"Oh nothing terrible, darling," Matthew laughed, which soothed Mary a bit, "Just stuff like 'Meet her at Central Park at this time,' or 'Be prepared to spend the weekend in Paris.' But I honestly haven't heard from him since those first few weeks."

"Oh, I see," Mary said, letting her anxiety seep out.

"Here we go," Matthew began,

" _Dear Mr. Crawley,_

_I am writing, of course, in regards to last night's events. I am very happy about the way that you and Mary have developed into a real relationship. Whoever would have thought that would happen when I set you up together? I'm very grateful that you have become a greater part of the family._

_I'm sure you are waiting for me to say that Crawleys act with more decorum and class than the actions you portrayed. That may be true, but that is not what this e-mail is about. I would actually like to say Thank You. I have wanted to give those men a good punch for a while now, so I'm glad you got around to it. I hope your wrist doesn't hurt too badly, but if it does, please let me know and I'll pay all the fees._

_Truly, I couldn't have asked for a better man for my Mary. Thank you for exceeding expectations. A small thank you gift should arrive at your New York apartment soon._

_Sincerely,_

_Robert Crawley CEO, Grantham Inc._

"That's sweet of Father," Mary smiled at the email.

"Indeed, he was far more generous than I thought he'd be," Matthew said.

"Look at you," Mary said, kissing his cheek, "You survived your first Crawley scandal like a champ."

"What do you say if I go make us some coffee, you take a shower and get ready, then maybe we'll have a late afternoon picnic?" Matthew suggested.

"Sounds lovely darling," Mary agreed, stretching and then getting out of bed. "I'll just be a few minutes."

Mary listened to Matthew going downstairs, before popping into the en suite. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her face looked vaguely puffy. She must have really had an exhausting few weeks if she looked this rough. Maybe a warm shower would help. Mary slipped into the warm water and concurred that it did feel wonderful. As she showered, she tried to think of some sort of publicly thank Matthew. She knew that people were going to be looking for a response from her about the events of the past night. Ignoring the incident would make it look as if she were covering something up. She knew that it would call for some sort of mature, intelligent social media post.

She toweled off and looked at her phone again. Anna had texted her an article that read, "Is Mary Crawley Going to Call It Quits After Matthew Punches Her Ex?" Mary gagged a little. She hated watching the paparazzi start egregious rumors about her relationships, but this particularly irked her. Matthew had been so protective, maybe ridiculously so, but still she hoped that people knew that he was only more dear to her for doing so. She knew what sort of post she needed to make.

As Mary began to blow dry her hair, she looked through the pictures on her phone from the night before. She eventually settled on one that Sybil had taken early in the party (Sybil was always good at iPhone photography), where they were smiling, Matthew's arms around her, both of them looking good dressed in navy. She fiddled with the Instagram filters till she found one that didn't look to juvenile, but also not too serious. She bit her lip, thinking of a caption, before she remembered what Matthew had revealed to her about his favorite film.

_Thank you MatthewCrawley for being my superhero #CaptainMatthew #CongratsAtticus_

She smiled at her post before finishing her hair, finding a romper to change into, and then heading downstairs where Matthew was waiting with a cappuccino. She too a sip before kissing him, foam still on her lips. Mary assumed that he hadn't seen the Instagram because he didn't mention it. Armed with sunglasses and large hats, they made their way to the food hall at Harrod's where they purchased small savory pies and strawberries and sparkling water and cupcakes. They wandered over to Hyde Park, where they spread out a blanket and their food nearby the Serpentine.

When they were done eating, Mary lay against the blanket looking at the sky. It was a rare sunny day and the sun felt good against her skin.

"Oh Mary," Matthew said, "You didn't have to."

"Didn't have to what?" Mary said, her eyes half closed, feeling sleepy again.

"This post on Instagram," He said, "I just saw it. It means a lot. Thank you."

"Of course," Mary said, her voice drowsy.

"It has a lot of likes already," Matthew said surprised.

"Probably don't read the comments," Mary said.

"Hmm well one says hashtag relationship goals, so that is something," Matthew said, his voice surprised, "But this one says, 'Stars Online says they are breaking up. Don't believe it.' Well that's a surprise to me. Mary, dear, are we planning on breaking up?"

"I'm not really planning on it," Mary said, nearly asleep again, "Ever really."

She could feel Matthew gently brushing a hand through her hair, as she faded into sleep.

She woke a time later, with Matthew's forehead crinkled in worry.

"You're awfully tired, darling," He commented, "Are you sure you are fine?"

"I've a bit of a headache," She said, "But honestly it's all quite ordinary for after large event for me. I usually am a bit worn out."

"If you say so," Matthew said, helping her to her feet.

"I do," Mary said. She combed through her hair, as Matthew folded the picnic blanket. "Now, there is a rather good bar nearby. Shall we stop there for some evening drinks? Then maybe we can finally get to the original plan from last night."

Matthew straightened from where he had been bent over, surprise on his face, "Mary, dearest, we don't have to do that tonight. We have plenty of time. I'm in no hurry."

"Do you not want to?" Mary asked, offering him her hand as they began to walk back.

"I do, I do," Matthew said, his voice vehement, "But after last night- I just thought- I thought things might have brought some memories to the forefront. I want you to have time to work through that before we… uh… revisit other things."

"That's what I thought would happen too," Mary remarked, "All day today, I've been waiting for the memories to wash back over me and pull me under. But actually, I've felt freer than ever. I think what I said last night, your little valiant attempt- I think it made me truly feel that they are my past, the past, and you are my future."

"Wow," He muttered, "That's quite a declaration. Do you mean it? You think things would be okay? You want to do _this_?"

A tiny bit of Mary was laughing at how a woman with several sex scandals to boot and a man with an Ivy League law degree could only discuss sex in euphemisms, but another bit of her was exhilarated.

"Well, there is only one way to find out," She suggested, giving him an eyebrow wiggle.

"I suppose that's true," Matthew agreed.

"Are you rethinking those drinks now?" She said, laughing. "We can skip right ahead."

"No, lets take our time," Matthew said, "I feel like we should do this slowly. And truly, Mary, we can stop whenever you wish, if it feels uncomfortable."

She leaned her head on his shoulder, her attitude turning serious too.

"Thank you," Mary said, putting a kiss on his shoulder. She wondered if she left lipstick against his white button up shirt.

"You don't have to thank me for being a decent person, Mary," Matthew said, "I'm just so sad that you've been treated so incorrectly by other men."

In the silent moment that followed, he pressed a kiss back into her hair. They were nearly out of the park now.

"Don't be," Mary said, "Like I said, you are my future. And it's starting now, so let's not look back."

They weaved their through the London streets to find the bar that Mary mentioned. It was a fancy cocktail bar, with far too many frilly accents for Mary's taste, but with some of her favorite cocktails in town. After curling up in a corner for an hour, as Mary sipped her way through two Lemon Drop martinis, the two of them discussing how they were dreading going to work.

Then finally, they walked slowly the empty house in Eaton Square. They toed their shoes off at the door. They rounded the steps to Mary's bedroom. They crossed the room, each movement slowing down till they sat in stillness on the side of Mary's bed.

Matthew reached into his pocket to pull out a condom. He twirled it in his hands for a moment before putting it on the nightstand.

"It's okay," Mary said, softly, "I got that covered."

As if Mary Crawley, Queen of Sex Scandals wouldn't be taking birth control. Because god forbid she turned up pregnant, as if she needed nine months of speculation about a Crawley baby splashed across every paper. Mary had little control about which scandals would erupt, but she could at least control that.

Matthew was quiet for a moment, his lips pushed firmly together, as if thinking about something very difficult.

"We should use it though," He said, his voice slow and steady, "It's not about babies actually. It's just… the disease I had last year… it can spread many ways, one of them being through sex. It's supposed to go away in a few months, but they've found cases where it's lasted over a year- so it makes sense to be safe."

"Of course," Mary said, instantly. She wanted Matthew to have a good time and not worry about his disease.

It reminded her that he was just as vulnerable as her. This was a huge step for the both of them, because their past contained so much pain and suffering. They had rebuilt their lives together. So in that way, there was nothing more healing, more declarative of their new found happiness than to come together bodily as well.

"Sorry, this isn't quite romantic pillow talk," Matthew said, clearly embarrassed, "But Mary, I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to you. If you got sick, especially with that disease, if it was my fault- I couldn't come back from that. I understand if you think it's gross and you want to stop here-"

"Shh," Mary said, "Please stop talking and make love to me."

"Are you sure?" Matthew repeated.

"Yes," Mary said, leaning forward to kiss him, "Yes."

Mary had never had anyone make love to her so reverently. Each touch was first a question, her echoing gasp the answer. Each brush of the hand- tangling in her hair, gliding over her hip, caressing her breast- was full of tenderness. Each piece of clothing discarded was a wall, an anxiety that was finally being brushed aside in exchange for sacred intimacy. Each swipe of his fingers- around her nipple, through her folds- was a promise that this time everything would be different. This was the kind of love that didn't hurt you.

"Are you sure?" He repeated again, as she panted, as he lined himself up, the smell of latex wafting through the air, his head lowered to lave her nipples.

"Yes, please," Mary whimpered.

Then each stroke was coaxing them towards perfect, exploding, dizzying bliss.

Later, Mary faded in and out of sleep, her body still trembling.

"Are you sure you feel alright?" Matthew asked.

"I've quite literally never felt better," Mary said, "Now, shh, I'm sleeping."

Matthew kissed her hair lightly.

"Good night."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there is that. I tend to write more mild/discrete love scenes than play-by-play smut- hopefully you all don't mind. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. It's one of my absolute favorites.


	14. Chapter 14: Phase Fourteen- Begin to Heal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey pals! Thanks for your patience, as I realize I'm a bit late in posting this chapter. I've had a lot of computer trouble/wifi trouble/power outages recently- all of which make writing difficult. I also was trying to wait until I finished Chapter 18... but then 18 became so long that it turned into 2 chapters... so I figured I might as well post :) Today also my first day I've had off work in a month, so it was wonderful to spend it editing this chapter and drinking warm beverages!
> 
> Also thanks for all the really, truly lovely comments on the last chapter. I'm really glad that you all are enjoying this story so far :) Apollo888 told me that Mdocks has started her own handbag line... so maybe she reads this fic. If you're out there reading Michelle- You are queen and I love you!

Chapter 14: Phase Fourteen- Begin to Heal

Mary woke up to an empty bed. She rolled onto Matthew's side of the bed, which felt cold, though it carried his scent. She found her phone tucked under a pillow and took it out to look at the time. It was early afternoon. How had she slept so long? There was also a text from Matthew:

_Darling. I hated leaving without saying goodbye, but I also hated to wake you when you were sleeping so peacefully. I have my meeting this morning, then I'm flying back to New York. I'll call you when I get home. Thank you for last night. I stand by what I said the other night- you are the most precious gift my life has been given. I'm grateful for each moment we have together._

Mary smiled at the text as she climbed out bed. She staggered for a moment, realizing that she had awful headache. Telling herself that she wasn't allowed to get back into bed, no matter how terrible she felt, Mary snatched her dressing gown from the door and made her way to the kitchen. The cook had left with the rest of the guests, back to New York to make dinners for father.

That was fine for Mary, after a week of entertaining she was craving solitude. Mary was the sort of person who didn't believe in introverts or extroverts. She believed that balance was the key. Too much alone time and she was slipping into loneliness, too much socializing and she was an exhausted mess.

She put grounds into the cappuccino maker and began hunting in the cupboards for Advil that hadn't yet expired. She filled a glass with water and swallowed the pill. It struck her how dry her throat was. She'd been tipsy for a few moments the night before, but not drunk, so she knew it wasn't a hang over. _Maybe the house was dry this time of year?_ She thought as she drained the glass.

When Mary settled on the couch with her cappuccino, opening her tablet to sort through e-mails, her thoughts settled on how lovely the night before had been. Matthew was a very good lover. It wasn't that she expected him to not be, but she didn't really know what sort of experiences he had outside of Lavinia. (She reminded herself to ask about that soon. She figured they were on a close enough level to discuss the exes of their younger selves.) Matthew's real talent had come from his tenderness. Mary had "had sex" lots of times in her life, but she never felt like someone truly made love to her till now. She never felt cherished during it in the precise way that Matthew had made her feel. Matthew was special. She wasn't letting go of him.

She started making her way through e-mails. She had a EuroStar ticket for that evening to get back to Paris, but for now she needed to start making plans to get back to work. The atelier was in good hands. Phillipa and Ivy would make sure that her studio thrived while she was away.

Currently, Mary was focused on developing her plans with Matthew's charity. She and Matthew had worked to develop an business plan for her bags, so the money would contribute in an effective way to communities that needed them. Matthew had thought that it might be right to have the money go back to the clinic in Burundi that he had gotten ill at, the unspoken connotation that it was where Lavinia had gotten ill as well. After all, he'd created his charity in her memory. Mary thought that seemed like a good use for it. After deciding that, Mary had had a new insight of her own. She wanted to work with artists in Burundi so that the bags reflected part of the country she was helping. It took little work to find an artisan group in the capital of Bujumbura. The group taught people from all walks of life to make beautiful art, textiles, and fashion products. They also sold them in town, teaching merchandising and entrepreneurial skills to the students. The whole project was led by a woman from Bujumbura who had worked a model, then a designer in New York and London fashion industries. Mary had reached out to contact her and so far she seemed pretty open for collaboration. Mary was loosely planning to go meet her in person and visit the artisan school later this month. She hadn't pitched the plan to Matthew yet and was very unsure what he would think of it. She knew the anxiety that lingered when he thought about that time in his life. She wondered if he would feel comfortable with her going back to the place that haunted his nightmares. She decided to cross that bridge again when they came to it.

She was halfway through reading the e-mail when she felt herself drifting off. Her headache had yet to lull and her throat was killing her. Mary put her cappuccino on the coffee table and curled into a ball to sleep.

* * *

Matthew felt lonely from the moment he arrived at Murray Hill. He always felt funny when he flew back to America. It was as if so much time had passed, but when he looked at the clock it was none at all. His day felt so long, yet in actuality it was only 7PM.

Had it really been just the night before that he'd made love to Mary? He'd kept replaying it as he let his eyes flutter shut on the flight. Mary had been splendid, agile and flexible. It came as no surprise that she was detail-oriented in the more intimate part of her life as well- not a hair out of place on her body (not that'd have mind if there was, but he found it very Mary that'd she'd been precise about even that), each kiss and gentle nip well placed, her touches gentle where they needed to be, the wimpers and moans she made only encouraged him more. He'd been mad for her regardless, but now that he knew about this wonderful side of her, he was already dreaming of when he could see her next.

He grabbed his phone and picked it up to call Mary. He knew that she would be getting back to Paris around 10PM, while it was nearly 1AM there now, he figured that she was likely still awake. After all, he'd promised a call as soon as he got home.

"Hello?" She said, a few moments later, answering the phone. Her voice was groggy.

"Sorry, love, did I wake you?" He asked lightly, letting a laugh slip into his voice, "Did last night tire you out?"

Mary responded, "What time is it?"

"It's probably nearly 1 in the morning, I'd suppose," Matthew asked.

"My phone says midnight," Mary replied.

"Aren't you in Paris?" Matthew asked, "It definitely should be 1AM there."

There was a pause, "No, I'm in London."

"Did you miss your train? What happened?" Matthew asked, confused at to what exactly was going on.

"Oh shit. The train," Mary exclaimed, "Seems I slept through it."

"Have you been asleep this whole time?" Matthew said, his stomach churning with worry.

"No, no," Mary said, "I woke up in the afternoon, had a cappuccino, did some e-mails- but then- I was so tired so I just decided to take a nap. I should have thought to set an alarm."

"Mary, this isn't good," Matthew said.

"It's fine. I'll buy another EuroStar ticket," Mary told him.

"And you aren't feeling bad in other ways?" Matthew pressed.

He felt silly, if not obnoxious, continuing to question her like this. But he needed facts. He needed to know exactly what was wrong. _She couldn't be sick_.

"I thought the house was awfully dry, but on second thought I might be getting a cold. I have a really sore throat, and a headache," Mary commented.

Matthew could feel the panicky feeling returning all over him. He sunk into the couch, ready to let his head drop between his knees if necessary.

"Are you okay?" Mary asked him back, "God, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have told you anything. You are probably freaking out, aren't you?"

"No, no," He lied, "Mary, I'm okay. Let's just worry about you."

"I probably just have a cold. We hung out in a lot of crowds. I promise, you don't have to worry over me," Mary told him.

"Easier said than done," Matthew said through gritted teeth, unable to describe the way that her illness would cling to him now. He wouldn't be able to think of anything else until she was better.

"Listen, I'm going to go back to sleep. Call me when you wake up tomorrow. I'm sure I'll feel right as rain then," Mary told him. "Really, darling, relax. Watch that show we like, drink some of the nice scotch you have, breathe deeply- then rest."

Matthew knew it wouldn't be easy, but he didn't know how he could expect Mary to do anything else for him. He knew that if she knew how worked up he had suddenly become, she'd been rubbing soothing strokes down his back, kissing his hair- in the way they comforted each other. She couldn't help that she was sick, and on the other side the ocean.

"Okay, yeah, that's a good idea," Matthew sighed, "I'll call you when I wake up."

"Yes, good plan, Good night Matthew," Mary said, her voice already half exhumed in sleep.

Once she hung up, Matthew began to meticulously unpack. Indulging himself in sorting out dirty and clean clothes was without a doubt soothing. He fired up Netflix on his TV and followed Mary's instructions to watch a good comedy that would clear his head. Within an hour, jetlag kicked in and he found himself curled up in bed.

* * *

"Are you awake now?" Matthew asked, as Mary folded herself onto the couch, receiver balanced on her shoulder and a steaming mug of tea in her hands.

"Yes," Mary laughed, "I've called out of work though. I'm going to stay in London until this cold passes."

"Are you sure that you have a cold?" Matthew asked, his voice serious.

"I mean I don't feel nauseous," Mary said, "Honestly, I don't even feel that bad. Just tired, and my throat hurts, and a headache, and now that I mention it- my face is rather puffy."

"Hmm," Matthew said, "I think you should go to the doctors."

"Why? I've loads a tea and an enormous tub of Marks and Spencer's chicken soup and some cough drops. It's all the medicine I need," Mary told him.

"Are you sure, Mary?" He asked.

"Yes, I'm positive," She said, "Now go to work."

Mary hated lying to Matthew. She had realized the night before that talking to Matthew about illness was only going to send him into a fit of nerves. The truth was, Mary felt miserable. She was insanely tired and her time spent awake was brutal. She had taken some more medicine for her headache, which was starting to kick in. She gave up on work e-mails, after calling Phillipa and telling her how awful she felt. Mary pulled up the Netflix app on her iPad and settled into watching another episode of the show Matthew had got her hooked on.

* * *

Being dutiful, Matthew followed Mary's directions. He dressed for work, suit, tie, and a thermos of coffee. He exited the apartment ran promptly into a man in a black suit standing there.

"Sorry," Matthew murmured, walking past him.

"Wait! Are you Mr. Matthew Crawley?" Asked the man, turning towards him.

Matthew flinched. This was it, he supposed, the paparazzi had discovered him. While they'd always hounded him when he was with Mary, they hadn't yet ventured to his apartment. He supposed that his antics over the weekend had warranted it. He just needed to get out of there before they could get anything from him.

"Sorry, no comment," Matthew said, walking faster.

"No, wait," The man shouted after him, "I'm sent from Robert Crawley, CEO."

Matthew turned slowly, completely confused.

"Robert mentioned to you that he was sending a gift?" The man asked.

Matthew slowly nodded.

"This is it," the man said, gesturing to a particularly nice car parked outside of the apartment.

Matthew gapped. He sent a car?

Matthew hadn't driven since he lived in Manchester, which was ages ago. Once he'd started uni his summers had been spent abroad where it wasn't legal for him to drive. Then he'd moved to New York where he'd no need for it. Matthew wasn't even sure he knew how to drive anymore, much less on the wrong side of the road. And driving down busy New York City street was not the place he wanted to figure out if he remembered.

"Right, yes, well, maybe take it back? I don't exactly have need for it," Matthew explained.

The man laughed, "Robert Crawley, CEO, mentioned that you might try to deny it. But he told me I must insist you accept it."

"No, no, you can't be serious," Matthew protested.

"Here are the keys," The man said, "Enjoy."

Matthew was completely baffled by this development. He frowned, twirling the keys in his hands as he watched the man walk away. What was he going to do with a car? He walked over to parking meter it was parked at and fed it all the change in his wallet. Hopefully that would tide him over until work was over when he could deal with that predicament.

He headed back towards work. He was grateful that he lived a few block from the UN that he could walk to work. The subway was packed during the morning rush hour, at least managed to miss that. Which was part of why this car thing was so stupid- it wasn't even practical for him to drive to work. He plugged his headphones into his phone and turning on his pre-made walking to work playlist. He was hoping if he blasted the music loud enough that he'd forget that his girlfriend was ill and that he had acquired a car that he didn't know what to do with. Then he was powerwalking through the city, sipping coffee from his thermos, and letting his day begin.

His morning was full of busy meetings, a conference call to Geneva, and a bit of writing. The afternoon was worse however. Things were slow, which led Matthew to only fester in his worries. It seemed like every time he tried to direct his thoughts to other things, his fears about Mary returned without abate. So when Tom asked if he was up to hit after work, he whole-heartedly agreed. Maybe tennis would keep his mind off Mary, and it would give him more time to figure out what to do about the car.

He met Tom at the outdoor courts they favored when the weather was good. They were miraculously empty. After a brief warm up, they ventured into a set. After two or three games, it was evident that they're playing was rubbish.

"Do you think it's because we've watched Atticus play and now we know we can't compare?" Matthew wondered, sitting on the bench beside the court.

"That or we've got some women problems," Tom offered.

"Abandon this for pints?" Matthew suggested.

"That sounds grand," Tom agreed, shoving his racket into his tennis bag.

They wandered a few blocks down to an Irish pub they had been to before. After grabbing drinks, they settled themselves at a table near the front.

"Wait," Matthew said, taking a sip, then swiping his tongue over his lips to collect the froth, "Tom, you don't have a girlfriend. How can you have women problems?"

"Ah, true, well, about that, I'm a bit head over heels for Mary's sister," Tom admitted with a blush.

This admission didn't come as a surprise to Matthew. He had noticed the way that Tom had mentioned Sybil's beauty the first time he'd met the Crawley sisters. He remembered the way that Tom had always asked him to say hi to Sybil or asked about her especially. It was enough that Matthew had thought to rope Tom into the plot to get Sybil to her interview. In the last few weeks, Matthew had certainly seen a starry look in Tom's eyes when he looked at Sybil. But Matthew had thought it was nothing more than a schoolboy crush.

"Oh God," Matthew said, realizing that Mary's phrases were eeking into his vocabulary, "Well, out with it all then."

Matthew listened as Tom explained that he'd had feeling for Sybil from the moment he saw her. He said they had a very casual friendship- just texting and occasional calls. Then when the "DC incident" had taken place, there had seemed as if there was something between them. Then nothing.

"I told myself I was going to let her go," Tom said, "But I can't stand the fact that someone has kind and feisty as her is going to end up as the trophy wife was that idiot Larry Grey."

"Mary's concerned about it too," Matthew told him, "We just don't know what to do about it."

"But you think I should do something right?" Tom insisted.

"Well, if you can, I'm sure it would be worth it," Matthew said, "But it rather seems like her mind is made up."

"There is something terribly fishy about the whole mugging incident in DC. And have you heard the things that he says to her? It's shit, really."

"I'm not arguing with you," Matthew said.

"What if I investigated it further, I told myself I wouldn't, but honestly, do you think she'd listen to reason if I sorted out the facts?" Tom broached.

"I suppose I would say to try anything you can," Matthew offered.

"Right, well, I just might," Tom admitted, "Anyway, what's wrong with Mary that's worrying you? The pair of you seemed to be floating on cloud nine at Wimbledon. I know your relationship started with a bribe, but everyone with two eyes can see that you are meant for each other."

"Thank Tom," Matthew said, "I couldn't be happier with my relationship with Mary. Truly. She's spectacular."

"Really?" Tom said with a smirk.

"No, honestly, she's everything," Matthew said, "She's not the problem."

"What's the problem then?" Tom asked, his eyebrows switching to confusion as he took a huge gulp of beer.

"She's sick," Matthew said, the pain of this situation apparent in this statement.

"With what?" Tom said, his voice concerned, "Is it serious?"

"She's says it just a cold," Matthew said.

Tom chuckled, "A cold? Ha! Matthew you are making this sound like she has a terminal disease. She'll be fine."

Matthew realized at that moment how little anyone outside of Mary knew about his psyche. Tom didn't realize the way that any illness to him now sounded like a death sentence. In fact, Tom saying "terminal disease" was enough to send him into a full on panic attack. He was already breathing faster. He felt warm and a bit dizzy. Dammit, he didn't want Tom or anyone really, to know how messed up he was. He was slowly losing control of this situation.

"Matthew?" Tom asked. "Are you alright? Did I say something wrong?"

Matthew put his hands on the table, trying to stabilize himself.

"Oh shit," Tom said, finally putting it all together, "This is really serious for you."

"I just feel so helpless," Matthew said through shaky breaths, "With Lavinia, I was so helpless- sick, far away. I just- I just know it will be fine, but it kind of feels like my world is falling apart. It feels like it's happening all over again."

Tom got up for a moment and returned from the bar with a glass of water. He patted Matthew's back lightly.

"Look," Tom said, "If it's bothering you so much mate, why don't you just go there?"

"What?" Matthew said, taking a huge sip of water.

"Fly to London. Lasses are into that, the whole taking care of you while you're sick thing," Tom suggested, "She'll think it's cute. You'll get- some piece of mind. Maybe?"

Matthew grinned, "That's actually an excellent idea. I might be able to make the last flight of the day if I leave right now. What do you think?"

"It's definitely possible," Tom nodded, "Just go for it. I'm sure her dad will pay you back for the ticket. You can work from the London office, or remotely, if need be. You've nothing keeping you here- go to your lady."

"Thanks for that," Matthew said, impressed by Tom's advice, "I think I will."

Matthew stood up to make for the door. He patted his coat, making sure that his passport and wallet were inside. He'd have everything he needed to make for the airport. No clothes, but he could buy some in London. Then his hands brushed over some car keys. Right, that blasted car.

"Actually, Tom, I do need your help with one thing," Matthew said, spinning the keys around his finger, "Do you happen to know how to drive on this side of the road?"

* * *

A few hours after Mary hung up with Matthew, common sense came over her and she realized she needed to go to the doctors. A few more hours and a mononucleosis diagnosis later, she was back in her house- still miserable- but at least she knew why.

She's been confused at first as to where the disease had come from. Wasn't it a kissing disease? She certainly hadn't been kissing anyone but Matthew, and she would have noticed if he'd been feeling this lousy. Then she remembered that Sybil's friend Gwen had been sick with mono all summer. In a small flash, Mary remembered lending Gwen some lipstick while at Cannes. _Dammit Gwen_.

She fixed herself a cup of tea, then promptly realized that the very concept of tea made her gag. _Loss of appetite,_ the brochure had read. It made sense looking back- the tiredness, the sore throat, the headaches. She poured out the tea and made herself a hot chocolate instead because apparently she could stomach that instead.

 _Four to six weeks,_ Mary repeated to herself, as she put marshmallows in her cocoa. The doctor said she would feel ill for four to six weeks. Then she'd still be tired for months longer than that. This hopefully meant that she'd feel better in time for the wedding, but she wouldn't be able to be as present to it if she was this exhausted. Then there was Matthew to deal with. They'd just finally come together, now she was going to have to keep him at arms length till she was less sickly. That was likely the most crushingly awful part about this whole thing.

When she finished her cup of cocoa, she headed to her room for a hot shower to get off all the germs from the doctors office. When she was done, she changed into her favorite t-shirt made out of the softest grey fabric with "Cornell" written across in faded red letters. She put on a pair of soft jogger pants and decided to let her hair drip-dry. She took another Advil for the headaches, then crawled in bed. She thought it might be smart to text an update to Matthew before sinking into the abyss, but she didn't want to worry him more. So she reached instead for a book on her nightstand, but fell asleep before she could turn a page.

Mary wasn't sure what time it was when she heard the doorbell ringing. She might have slept for ages or for a half hour. It really all felt the same to her at this point. She stumbled out of her room, making her way downstairs.

She prayed to God it wasn't a pap. Her hair had almost certainly dried in all different directions. She was wearing no make up. She was dressed in her comfiest of clothes. She was in no place to answer questions or be seen as a half asleep mess.

She clicked on the intercom, "Who is it?"

"Mary, Mary, is that you?"

"Matthew? What are you doing here?" Mary asked, blinking away sleep to make sense of it. She hadn't been expecting him today, but maybe she had forgotten something in her illness.

"Just let me in first," Matthew said,

"Oh right," Mary replied, opening the door for him.

There he was at her doorstep. He was oddly dressed in athletic clothes and trainers. His blond hair was particularly floppy and damp under the rain of a summer storm. But he was somehow and unexpectedly here. His expression was one of pure relief.

She couldn't blame him. She knew what he'd been through with Lavinia. She knew how tightly wound his anxiety was. If this was what he needed to not worry, she understood. However, he couldn't be there.

"God, it's so good to see you," Matthew said.

She was immediately enveloped in his arms, the pair of them wrapping around her waist to pull her flush against him. For a moment she relished in the safety and comfort of his embrace. Then he lowered his head, angling for a kiss.

"No, Matthew, stop," She said, pushing him away.

"What's wrong?" He said, stepping back his face changing from relief to confusion.

"You can't be here," She said firmly.

"If it's just a cold-" He began, his face crinkling in worry, as if his world was shattering.

"It's not a cold," Mary told him.

She watched his vision cloud with anxiety, as if he suddenly couldn't see her or anything.

"Do you need to sit?" She offered.

"Mary," his voice was raspy already, "Mary, what do you have?"

He was swaying a bit. Mary reached out a hand to steady him.

She was about to reply, "Mono," when he began to fall. Chances are, she wouldn't have been able to catch him on a good day, much less when she felt like a sick weakling. She lunged forward to catch him, but he slipped her arms and hit the floor with a thud.

* * *

Panic was rolling over Matthew before he opened his eyes. He knew that smell- the antiseptic one that made him gag. Matthew opened his eyes to an artificially light world.

"No," He whispered, feeling disoriented, "No."

It had all been a dream, hadn't it? He was still in the hospital, still sick. Lavinia was dying. Mary had been a dream, hadn't she? Their two months together an illusion made by his fever-ridden mind. It made sense, only such intense illness could allow him to make up an illusion like dating Mary Crawley. Because how else could he explain the fact that he was back in the hospital?

As he fought against the panic and disorientation, he began to notice details that marked this place as different. In Atlanta, he'd been put in quarantined room for those with highly contagious, highly dangerous diseases. The doctors had seemed cryptically futuristic, dressed in hasmat suits that rendered them unhuman. There had been machines whirling, all intent to keep him alive.

But now, it was silent, abet for distant chatter in a different room. Turning his head to one side, wincing at the intense pain, he saw that he was in a single room. He watched doctors and nurses mill by outside, dressed in normal doctor clothes. There was no quarantine, no hasmat suits. He couldn't be in Atlanta.

He slowly turned his head to the opposite direction and saw her. She was tucked into an armchair, still wearing the loose black pants, a faded Cornell t-shirt, her hair in a knot on the top of her head. Her eyes were closed in sleep.

 _Mary_. She was real. Of course, she was real.

All of a sudden, he felt silly that for a moment he had thought she was a dream. He tried to remember what had happened to land them here.

Then it hit him in a whirl of memories- Mary's sickness, his conversation with Tom, that damn car, the flight here, showing up on Mary's doorstep. As he recovered each one, the old fear began to cling to him. Mary was sick. Mary didn't have a cold. She could have the disease. She could leave him like Lavinia did.

He reached over to touch her hand.

"Mary," He whispered.

He felt a wave of relief as she opened her eyes. She startled at seeing him awake.

"Matthew," She said instantly, "How are you feeling? Is your head alright?"

He felt confusion wash over him. If Mary was sick, why was she asking how he was feeling? But now that he mentioned it, his head ached terribly.

"Hmm, head hurts," He moaned.

"Thought so," Mary said, "Sorry, it's all my fault. I'll call for the doctor."

Matthew was still stuck on her, her sickness.

"We should call a doctor for you, darling," He said, "To make you better."

"Don't worry about me," Mary said, pressing a button to call the doctor.

"But you can't have the disease," Matthew said weakly.

"What disease?" Mary said, reaching down to run her hand through his hair soothingly. It felt so good, her touch.

"The one I had, the one Lavinia had," Matthew explained, as if it wasn't obvious.

"Oh that. Darling, no, I don't have it."

"No?" He asked.

"I have mononucleosis, Matthew," Mary said.

"You do?"

"Yes, which is partly why I couldn't catch you when you collapsed, which is why you probably have a mild concussion now," Mary told him, "Sorry about that again, by the way."

"Ah, there we are," the doctor said, coming in to the room, "How are you feeling Mr. Crawley?"

He watched as Mary sat back while the doctor began some routine tests to see the extent of his concussion.

"You seem fine, but we'd like to hold you overnight for observations," The doctor explained, "Head injuries are funny and we just want to ensure you are fine."

Matthew nodded, wincing at the movement.

"We're going to give you some painkillers for your head, so let us know if it gets worse," the doctor said, "Or if you feel nauseous."

The doctor handed him some pills and some water, Matthew downed them both quickly.

"The doctor said you were dehydrated and hadn't eaten recently. You must not have eaten or had water on the flight?" Mary said, "That's probably why it was easier for you to have a massive anxiety attack. But I think they IVed you some liquids or something. I don't know I was mostly asleep."

She was asleep because she had mono. Not anything life threatening, but not anything very fun either.

"God, Mary, I'm so sorry," He said, "You are the one who is really sick and here you are at the hospital, taking care of me."

"Well, I didn't have much of a choice, did I?" Mary said, a smile in her voice. He was so grateful that she was amused rather than furious, as she deserved to be. "Luckily being Mary and Matthew Crawley gets you a more private room, because honestly if I was caught in public looking this frumpy and with my face so puffy, then we'd have a real scandal on our hands."

Matthew chuckled, then paused, looking at her swollen face and tired eyes. His tone more serious now, "You should go home. You need rest and herbal teas and Advil. And I'm not sure what else- I don't know that much about mono."

"I hope you never learn," Mary said, "It's quite miserable. I'm pretty sure if I keep my eyes open much longer they'll cease to exist."

"We can't have that," Matthew said, reaching for her hand, "Your eyes are quite lovely."

He held it in his own, turning it softly.

"Before I go," Mary said, "I think we need to discuss this."

"What?" He asked.

"What happened this morning," She said, "We can talk more about when you feel better. But Matthew. I'm going to get sick in life. I'm going to get common colds and stomach bugs and heaven knows what else- but I can't be taking you to the hospital every time I feel ill. Plus, your immune system is weaker because of the disease you had. Being at the hospital, being around me- it's only making you susceptible for worse things. I can see our relationship lasting, well, a really long time. But in order to do that, we need to deal with this."

"How?" Matthew asked. Everything Mary said was true. He felt ashamed that this dark monster of anxiety was causing him to disappoint Mary, was causing him to let her down.

"When we started really dating, we promised that we wouldn't fix each other, that we'd heal alongside each other. No matter how many kisses I give you (not that you get any until I'm done with this mononucleosis business), it's not going to fix this anxiety you have. I know because I have anxiety issues too. And I go to a therapist for it. It's not anything to be ashamed of. Honestly, almost everyone in the spotlight has one in order to deal with the pressure. It's his job to figure out why I had trouble with intimacy and help me work through it. I think you need to start seeing someone to talk about your anxiety. I know you did when you were little, but it's okay to see a therapist now too. You told me a few weeks ago that you felt like your mind was sick. If someone's sick, they need to get better. They'll help you get better."

"Maybe," He said, frowning.

"Matthew, when I'm better, I want to go to Burundi to meet the artisans I've been working with. I want to learn about their lives and the fabrics and patterns they use and how we can work together to actually make a sustainable difference in their lives. I've been reading stuff about development you sent me, and other things I found on my own. I don't want to touch people's lives in superficial ways, but for this project to enact changes they want and need to flourish. I want to go to Burundi and I want you to come with me. You need to conquer this anxiety so we can help even more people."

Frankly the idea of going back to Burundi was terrifying to Matthew. But at the same time, he was amazingly proud of Mary for want to dive into the lives of the people he cared about. He was admired the fact that she wanted approach their new endeavor by learning from the people. He admired how she wanted to help people, not as a rich, white savior type, but as someone ready to be humbled by people with talents that mirrored her own. As much as he wanted to shrink from her suggestion, he knew it was brilliant. She was brilliant. He was determined to let her dreams flesh out.

He put a kiss on the palm of her hand and then lifted it to his cheek.

"Mary, if that will help us with our project together, then I will," He said.

He watched a smile grace her face. He realized that the painkillers were making him sleepy. His eyelids all of a sudden felt heavy.

"You're tired, aren't you?" She said softly.

Matthew let out a hum, leaning into her hand.

"Go home now Mary," He said, his voice slow with exhaustion, "I'll be here in the morning."

"Okay, I'll see you then darling," She said, "I'd kiss you goodbye, but well-"

"Goodnight Mary."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we are. Reviews make me smile :) Hope you all are having a nice week!


	15. Chapter 15- Phase Fifteen: Face Our Fears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends! Here's another chapter for, another which I happen to be really fond of. Not long after starting to write this fic, I went to a conference on international development, while concurrently taking a French class on sustainability and intercultural communication. A lot of stuff from the conference and class eventually became a part of this fic- this chapter in particular.
> 
> I have just few chapters left to write before I'm finished writing- I can hardly believe this journey is finishing up. (No worries there is loads of drama left to go- just you wait)

 

* * *

 

July passed curiously for Mary and Matthew.

After his night in the hospital, Matthew spent the rest of the week in London. The pain slowly subsided from is head. He tried to make it up to Mary by caring for her. Even if it just meant making her soup (despite the fact she insisted she had no appetite), stroking her hair while she slept (and she slept a lot), and helping her in the shower (well maybe she didn't need help in shower, but well, Matthew didn't mind helping). They laughed at the headlines that followed that week, _Fashion Icon Mary Crawley Caught In Lounge Clothes,_ and, _Crawley Hospital Conspiracy: Why Were Both Mary and Matthew Caught at a London Hospital This Week?_ They slept side by side in Mary's bed, with comforting kisses on her forehead, her cheek, her hair, anywhere but her lips.

"I'm sorry," Mary said, snuggled into his arms, "It took us forever to make love and we finally did and it was so so lovely. But now we can't again."

"Shhh," Matthew said, "We've plenty of time for that. Just get rest now, Mary. You'll be better soon."

At the end of the week they went back to Paris together. Mary leaned on his shoulder on the EuroStar. She was wearing big sunglasses, a grey hooded jumper with the hood up, and soft black leggings (which made him impatient to get to her Paris flat where he might be able to let his hands rove over them). She slept the whole way there.

They woke up the next morning, where they grimaced at, _Mary Crawley Still Looking Frumpy as She Travels to France_ and rolled their eyes at _Is Puffy Faced Mary Crawley a Sign of Crawley Pregnancy? Is it the baby Matthew or Tonys?_ Matthew fumbled through some basic French to procure her some pastries and make her a cappuccino. She still wasn't eating very much, but was making small improvements each day. They spent day cuddled on her couch alternating between Audrey Hepburn and Captain American movies. Mary researched flights to Burundi on her phone. Matthew researched therapists in New York on his. She eventually fell asleep and he carried her to bed, curling beside her.

He flew home on Sunday morning. Mary started going back to work again, just a few hours every day. She said despite the fact that she was tired and aching, she could still get things done, even if it was just planning the details of their upcoming trip and working on plans for the upcoming design.

Matthew fell back into his routine in New York. Turns out, missing three weeks in a row for the World Health Organization was something that wasn't exactly smiled on. He wasn't sure how he was going to manage a trip to Burundi and Sybil's wedding. But that could be figured out later. For now, he had lots of work to do to catch up. Plus, there was the issue of finding a therapist.

* * *

 

"Hmmm what do you think of this one?" Asked Sybil, as she swallowed the piece of cake. "I think it's my favorite so far."

"Was that the Earl Grey one?" Larry verified.

"Yes, with the lavender frosting," Sybil said, nodding happily, "It's so unique and delicious."

"It's tasty, dear, of course it is," Larry said, "But it's a bit exotic. I think the guests would prefer something simpler. Maybe a vanilla and buttercream. Or a chocolate marble."

"I suppose," Sybil sighed, "But isn't it our wedding? Shouldn't we have whatever damn cake we wish?"

Larry sighed, "See Sybil, this is why I'm glad you didn't get that internship. You think about yourself a tad too much to be a public servant. Even if it is the cake is what you want, you have to think about the greater good. Just as if you are a policy maker, you must think of the constituents, not just yourself."

Sybil put down her sample plate in a clatter, anger suddenly tracing her face, "Is that what you think?"

"No offense, dear," He began.

"Larry we aren't talking about politics right now, we are talking about cake for our wedding," Sybil said, her voice sharp, "It's rude of you to use this as an opportunity to what- say that I'm inadequate at politics? You've been saying that enough recently. If not, we can look at the internship that I didn't get as proof enough."

"I wasn't saying you are inadequate, just that you have a lot to learn," Larry offered, "Growth mindset, honey. Maybe if you take the time to learn from me, you might have a chance at an internship in a year or two."

Sybil rolled her eyes, "Thank you wise mentor. Maybe one day I'll be as great as you."

"Don't be like this," Larry said.

"Like what? A thinking person?" Sybil snapped.

"Just calm down," Larry said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "This escalated too quickly."

Then Larry's phone started ringing. He picked it up and walked it over to the side of the bakery to take the call. Sybil nibbled on the piece of vanilla and buttercream cake, frowning at how terribly ordinary it tasted.

This wasn't the first time that Larry had said something like this. There was a part of her that knew she should just call it off. She was increasingly tired of him. However, the spiteful part of her was fighting back. Mary, Matthew, and Tom all disapproved of her upcoming wedding. She knew they looked down on her. She knew that they didn't want her to marry Larry, that she was too young. The fact that no one respected that she knew her own mind, no one trusted that she was capable- it made her want to enter into the marriage regardless.

"It was the caterer," Larry said, "They say they may have to cancel."

"Might have to cancel?" Sybil repeated, "What could be more important than the Crawley-Grey wedding?"

"Apparently the American Embassy wants to book them for an event," Larry explained. "Can we get your father to offer them more money?"

"I suspect that was what their threat was after in the first place," Sybil frowned, "But yes, I'm sure we can offer more. Father's money seems to be like a solution to most problems."

Larry chuckled, "And do you think it will work?"

"It worked for Mary and Matthew," Sybil said, under her breath.

"What do you mean?" Larry questioned, his eyebrows shooting up.

"Hmm, oh, well, it's a secret," Sybil prefaced, glancing around the empty bakery for lurking ears, but the baker had stepped outside for a smoke "But you are soon to be bone of my bone or whatever."

"I think it's flesh of _my_ flesh," Larry said.

"Whatever. Will you keep it secret?" Sybil prompted.

"Of course, dear, do you not trust me?" Larry said.

"I do, dear," She replied, touching his hand. Even if they had their differences, she trusted her fiancé. "Only just that Father originally paid Matthew to pretend to date Mary, to improve her public image. They're in love now, so it's all fine- Crawley money solves all problems."

 _Maybe it can solve ours,_ she added mentally.

"Really?" Larry gasped, "They seemed so in love in Wimbledon. Who'd have thought that?"

"They are, now," Sybil explained, "But at first they couldn't stand each other. I think it's quite romantic."

"It's something alright," Larry laughed.

"Hmm, well now that I've paid in you Crawley family secrets, can we get the wedding cake _I_ want?"

* * *

 

"Gwen?"

"Who are you?" Gwen said, opening her door.

She was dressed her pajamas, her hair balanced in an orange bun on top of her head. She was definitely not expecting company, especially not a cute, well-dressed man with an Irish accent, who despite these admirable qualities was- in fact- a total stranger.

"I'm a friend of Sybils," The man said, "I'm Tom."

"I've never heard of a Tom," Gwen said, racking her memory. He looked a hair too old to have gone to college with them. Maybe he was a childhood friend she had never met.

"Sybil and I are recent friends," Tom said, "If we are even that."

"So you aren't Sybil's friend?" Gwen repeated.

"Listen, do you think that Sybil should marry that congressman bozo?" Tom asked bluntly.

"I mean she's my best friend, and I get to be a bridesmaid, I'm going to stand by her regardless," Gwen said defensively, but then paused, allowing herself to be honest with the complete stranger, "But yeah, she deserves way better than political scumbag."

"I thought you might agree with me," Tom said, "I need your help."

"Look, whatever your plan is, I can't help too much," Gwen said, "In case you haven't noticed I'm a bit ill. I had mono, then it turned into tonseilitus, then I got my tonsels removed. It's been a long summer."

"Listen you don't need to even leave your room," Tom said, "You are good at hacking right?"

Gwen let her face break out into a devious grin, and opened the door to let Tom in, "Come on in."

* * *

 

Matthew arrived back in Paris that weekend to check on Mary. He found her nestled on the chez lounge sipping a cappuccino, her laptop and Daisy sitting next her. Her hair was neatly braided. Her face was still puffy; making her usually wide eyes look tiny. She was wearing a light pink tank top and flowing patterned pants. It was still comfortable, but had a more meticulous Mary Crawley detailed style to it than her outfits from the week before did. And she was awake, which was definitely an improvement on her health.

"Good morning, darling," He said, letting himself in.

"Hey you," She said, looking up from her drink and computer. She put her coffee down and reached out to him for a hug. He crossed the space to her, letting her wrap her arms around his waist and put her head on his stomach. In turn, he let his arms fold around her.

"How are we feeling today?" He asked.

"Marginally less miserable?" Mary offered.

"You look a bit better," He acknowledged, rubbing his hand over her hair.

August 26th 1982 6:30 evening

"My throat hurts a bit less, but I've still a headache and I'm so tired," Mary said, burrowing closer into him, "But the doctor says I'll be tired for months after, so I suppose that's not going anywhere."

"And no kisses still?" Matthew said, sadly.

"No kisses, indeed," Mary said glumly, "Not for a month or so?"

"So around Sybil's wedding, I would suppose then," Matthew said, thinking of how terribly long that would be to wait.

"That's probably safe," Mary agreed, "Mono is tricky. It's a virus so I could technically give it to you anytime. Or you might have it already and not know it. But hey, you're the one who is good at all these medical things."

Mary scooted over a bit, so that Matthew could settle beside her, his arms still wrapped around her. Mary leaned her back against his chest, her hands resting over his.

"I'm not sure if that's true, just law really," Matthew said, gently nuzzling his head into her hair. The tight braid felt smooth against his skin. He felt a tingle of nerves in veering the subject this way, but he had to tell her. "I should tell you about some medical things."

"What is it?" Mary asked, her face stitched suddenly with worry.

"Nothing bad, well, kinda," Mattthew said, running his hands up her arms for a moment, "It's just that I took your advice and found a therapist in New York."

"Did you?" Mary asked leaning back further so that she could look up at him with a grin. "I'm really proud of you. I know it took some courage, but taking care of yourself is important."

Matthew nodded, pursing his lips together, hesitant to keep telling her.

"What is it?" She asked, reaching for her hand up to his face to run her finger along the bit of scruff that'd collected along his jawline. It soothed him enough to open up.

"Well, she referred me to a psychiatrist as well," Matthew admitted.

"Oh?" Mary said, her voice light.

"They prescribed a medication for anxiety," Matthew explained.

"That's good," Mary said, her voice full of positivity.

"Is it?" Matthew replied, his brow furrowing.

"Yes, Matthew, you've had these worries since you were a boy. It's haunted your whole life. You said it made your brain feel sick. It's okay to take medicine when you are sick," Mary told him.

"So you won't-" he paused, still hesitant about this, "You don't think less for me for this?"

Mary turned in his arms to face him, her hands coming to rest on his cheeks.

"Think less of you? How could I?" Her beautiful face was wrinkled with concern, "You are one of the bravest people I know. You've been through so many hardships, lost loved ones, been terribly ill yourself, and yet you never stop striving to make the would a better place. You never stop imagining a world that is better than it is today. I am so lucky to know you, much less, treasure you. There truly isn't much you could do to have me think less of you.

She wrapped her arms around him, pulling herself into a close embrace, and felt all the worry inside him dissipate.

"You too, Mary," He whispered, "I will never think less of you."

"Damn," Mary said, a trace of laughter in her voice, "I wish I could kiss you now."

Matthew laughed, "I wish I could kiss you too, darling. But soon, soon, we will."

He pressed a kiss into her hair, "Now what shall we do? Have you left your apartment recently?"

Mary made a soft grumble, the vibration tingling against his chest.

"Right, so, then let's get you some fresh air. That's important you know," She looked up at him with a hint of a glare, "Then maybe some Berthillion? What? It will help your throat. I've never seen Mary Crawley to deny Berthillion."

"I suppose that's true," Mary said, "Besides, at least my outfit is better today. Maybe someone will take a photo of us and it will negate the whole 'Mary Crawley Pregnancy' conspiracy or whatever. My father wasn't too keen on that one."

"Did he say something?" Matthew asked.

"Just a notorious Robert Crawley CEO e-mail," Mary said. "I instagramed a picture of the cup of tea you made me with 'Thanks so much MatthewCrawley for taking care of me while I'm sick. #fuckyoumono' But I think I still need to do a little more."

"So a stroll in the park et un peu de la glace, then?" Matthew proposed.

"Look at you and your French," Mary teased, as he helped her up.

She scooped up Daisy and put her in her cage, before adding, "But when we get back, we are cuddling and sleeping."

"That's fine by me," Matthew said, putting his arm around her.

* * *

 

Less than an hour later, Mary was happily carrying a cornet of frambois-à-la-rose as they crossed the parvis of Notre Dame. Matthew was asking her about the plans for Sybil's wedding was going.

"It's good," Mary said, "She's picked the cake this week. She told me it's going to be a earl grey cake, very sophisticated. They had a problem with the caterer, but I think it's sorted. The decorator and florist are all accounted for. The wedding party is accounted for. Invitations sent. It's getting rather close."

"She invited my mother," Matthew said, "which is kind of her. She invited Tom too."

"Did she?" Mary remarked, "I thought there was some tension between them at Wimbledon."

"I thought so too," Matthew admitted, "I don't think Tom approves of Larry as a match for Sybil."

"Tell him to join the club," Mary laughed.

"He told me that's going to try to convince her out of it," Matthew told her.

"Well best of luck to him then," Mary said, "I've tried. She's stubborn."

"I'm coming to see it as a Crawley sister trait," Matthew noted.

"Probably," Mary smiled, happy at how nice it was to have someone that knew the details of her personality. "Besides, there are good things about Sybil's wedding. I just bought my dress for it."

"Because you're the maid of honor, correct?" Matthew asked.

"Right," Mary said, "Gwen and Rose are bridesmaids. It'll be nice."

Mary wondered if she should tell him about the dress. Sybil had decided to take a page out of Princess Kate's book and do the wedding party in white. While their dresses were understated, Mary couldn't deny that she looked like a bride in the long white dress when she looked in the mirror. She wondered what Matthew would think of her in it. Would it scare him? Or would it make him think about a future with her?

Mary thought of the words she'd said a week or so before, " _I can see our relationship lasting, well, a really long time._ " She could see them having some sort of future. She wasn't sure what that looked like. She wasn't positive that it meant a white dress in any sort of immediate future, but maybe one day. All of a sudden, the wedding conversation seemed overwhelming.

They were crossing over the left bank. Mary had a brief flashback to their first weekend in Paris. That evening where they walked in these very same places, but everything was so different. There was so much that lingered unspoken between them that night, but today they were free of it. They could hold hands and press kisses into each other's hair without weird confusion of unspoken feelings and sky-high walls.

Thinking of that moment, and wanting to suddenly change the subject, she offered, "Shall we pop in Shakespeare and Company?"

"If you are up to it," Matthew said, rubbing his hand over her back.

"Sure, but then after right to the cuddling and sleeping bit," Mary laughed.

They made their was into the bookstore. They were awkwardly stopped by some American tourists who asked to take selfies with them. Mary and Matthew obliged, mostly out of Mary's desire to get a healthier picture of herself out there.

Once they were inside, they sifted their way through the bookshelves. Mary picked out a few classics she hadn't read yet and decided to buy them. She knew that she'd have a good amount of time to read coming up between recovering from mono and flying to Burundi in a few weeks.

Matthew appeared beside her, holding _La Dame Aux Camelias_.

"I thought I'd give your favorite book a try," Matthew said.

"You don't have to," Mary said, "Especially if it makes things harder for you."

"Aren't we all about facing our fears these days, Mary?" He said, "I'll be fine."

Mary kissed his cheek, "If you say so, darling."

"What have you got there?" Matthew asked.

"Mmm, just some Edith Wharton," Mary said, showing him the paperbacks.

"Speaking of Ediths," Matthew said, "Have you seen this?"

He nods at a new poster hanging above the cash register.

_Coming this Fall. Edith Crawley's The Marchioness._

"Did you know she was writing a new book?" Matthew asked.

Mary shook her head. "Like I said, she doesn't really communicate with me much."

"Well, it's sensational that's she'd publishing another book," Matthew said, "My mother will be overjoyed."

"Does it say what it's about?" Mary wondered.

"Hmm," Matthew said, craning his neck to read the description, "Lady Elizabeth Hightower was the daughter of an Earl, a social butterfly, and ready to become a fine lady in a fine household- until a horrendous scandal ruined her. Years later, Lady Elizabeth Hightower has found love for the first time in Albert James. But her romance hinges on the fact that Albert doesn't know Elizabeth's secret."

"Curious," Mary said, "That sounds weirdly familiar. Daughter of a rich man, ruined by scandal, in love with a man that is far too good for her- do you think Edith is writing about us?"

"But you don't talk to her much- how could she know?" Matthew said, "Perhaps she reads your tabloids. Or just stalks your instagram."

"True," Mary said, stepping up to pay, "It's still curious."

* * *

 

It was two weeks later that they flew from Paris to Amsterdam, to Niarobi, to Kigali, to Bujumbura. Mary had prepared for the trip extensively. Apart from just arranging meetings with the artist group, she'd spent a long time reading up on the history of Burundi. It had been victim to a brutal civil war, which had been bad for economy, for tourism, for health. Mary had also borrowed several books from Matthew about working in the developing world. She wanted to learn all she could. Most importantly, she didn't want to sweep in like some sort of white savior figure trying to change the world. She wanted to work with the people there so that her contribution could make a sustainable difference.

They arrived in the morning, but after hours and hours of traveling, Mary insisted they rest at the hotel before doing anything.

"Are you sure you are up to doing more?" Matthew asked, as he stroked her hair, laying beside her in bed, Mary drifting in and out of a nap, "You are still recovering from mono. It's really okay if you get more rest, darling."

"No, no," Mary said, "I have a meeting this afternoon to start setting things up. Can't cancel."

She raised herself from her bed and headed to the bathroom. A half hour later, she was dressed in a summer dress, her hair in a bun, and her feet neatly tucked into practical brown flats. She wasn't exactly sure how to dress for these things.

"You look great," Matthew said, "You can hardly tell you have a nasty virus and have just been travelling for almost an entire day."

Mary rolled her eyes, but he got off the bed to settle his arms around her waist.

"I mean it, darling, you're beautiful," Matthew said. "Now let's go start our project."

So they launched into a busy few days. Mary and the center's director, Elise, got on instantly. Mary was happy to discover they both spoke French and English, they both had mutual friends in the industry, and they both had a similar vision for the project. The bag they would make would have a colorful bit of fabric that wove through it, the textiles based on artistic traditions in Burundi. They'd also be making little wooden charms to dangle off the bags, one shaped like Mary's logo and one in the shape of an animal native to Burundi.

After a few days of finalizing the designs, Mary got to meet more of artisans working at the center. She had them teach her their different techniques. She was completely baffled by the wood carvers, and couldn't even imagine to understand how they did it.

Bujumbura was a fascinating, abet often troubling. It had been a French colony, which was evident in the wide boulevards and brief appearances from an architectural style that might be described as Hauseman-esque if you squinted. On their second day, they found a pastry shop that rivaled anything she'd had in Paris. There was a natural beauty around them as well- mountains, palm trees, and Lake Tanganyika.

Yet so much of it was unsettling to Mary. The city was almost frozen in time, as violence had held the country back from developing. The windows had bars on them. Then there was poverty. It wasn't as if Mary hadn't known it existed, but until then she'd always had the choice to not really allow herself to think about it. Now she was here and she saw it and there was no turning back.

"How do you see these things, Matthew?" Mary asked. That afternoon they had walked through a poorer part of town. It had haunted Mary since. The drawn faces of tired women carrying baskets too big for them. The dirty feet of children. The way that bugs had clung to the eyes of animals. She knew that their were nice part of Burundi, that the people who lived here had lives that were complex and dynamic as her own- but there were part of being here that broke her heart. "How do you see things and just keep on living?"

They were sitting at a beach side bar, sharing a pizza and beers, a perfectly blue pool in front of them, beyond that an expanse of beach, then water that might have looked like something from a tropical island in the Caribbean instead of the middle of Burundi. It was easy to forget here. It was easy to think that they were on a holiday for pleasure. It was easy to think that not far from here was true suffering.

Matthew took a long sip of beer, "I guess I realized that I needed to do everything I could to help. After I came back from Peru, then Uganda, I knew that I was interested in vulnerable people. I was already interested in the legal side of medicine. So that's why I wanted to work for the World Health Organization. I figured it was the best way to use the skills I have to make a difference."

"I just wish I could find some way to make a difference like that," Mary said.

"I think you already are," Matthew said. "This line is going to help people start paying attention to the problems that are happening here. It's going to help people affected by disease here. It's going to help the artisans who will benefit from this partnership."

"Right," Mary said, "But then the line is over? What happens? I keep making handbags that fit rich people's pets and cost more than a year of college tuition."

"That's up to you, Mary," Matthew said, "But I have to believe it's never too late to live the life you want to live."

Mary bit her lip. It was true. Their relationship, if anything, could attest to that. But what did it look like? Her skills set was in fashion design. She didn't see herself inclined to become a lawyer or a doctor or something that would be directly useful in the way that Matthew was. But this world of development was still interesting to her, transformative for her. She didn't want to go back to meaningless handbag lines. She wanted to keep finding ways for her world of fashion and the developing world to collide.

"It's rather warm tonight," Matthew said, "Do you fancy a swim before we head back to our room?"

"Sure," Mary said.

They got up from where they were sitting to make for the pool. She peeled off her sundress, revealing her black bikini. Matthew's arm wrapped around her from behind, his soft t-shirt against her back.

"If only you didn't have mono," He whispered.

"Soon, I'll be better," Mary said, "It's not long till Sybil's wedding."

"Thank goodness for that," Matthew agreed, as Mary turned in arms to take off his shirt.

He put a quick peck on her forehead before jumping into the pool, part of the splash drenching Mary.

She giggled and jumped in after him. For a moment she was submerged underwater, before she floated to the surface. She burst forth and started looking around for him. He was standing now at the far side of the pool, watching the sunset over the water

His hair glowed gold in the evening sun. He looked something like an angel. She paddled over to his side.

_I love him._

She wasn't sure where the words came from, but she couldn't deny it wasn't the first time they had appeared in hear head. She loved Matthew Crawley. She loved his smile, his hair, the way he said her name, and the look in his eyes when he talked about changing the world. She loved the way he looked when he was asleep, the way he kissed her hair, and the way he held her through every hard moment. She loved the world she entered with him. It was a world that believed in hope, change, and that anyone could make a difference. She loved him. She loved him. Mary Crawley loved Matthew Crawley.

She wanted to shout it, but she didn't. She didn't know how to tell him. He had left her up to setting the pace of the relationship, but she didn't know if that applied to emotional things as well. She didn't know when or where someone was supposed drop the three little words. She had never been a relationship like that before, the kind where you say "I love you."

"Penny for your thoughts, love?" He asked, as she took her place at his side, his wet arm wrapping around her.

_Tell him. TELL HIM._

"Just how lovely the sunset is," Mary said, "And how much I wish I could kiss you."

* * *

 

At the end of the week, they took a day trip to the famous Karera Falls. It had been Matthew's idea. They'd finished all their work. Mary and Elise had finalized all their plans and collaborations. In a day, Mary and Matthew would be heading back to their lives in Paris and New York. There was a bit of Mary that was sad about it. She saw herself growing here. But she had this feeling that she would be back.

They arrived to the falls to see that they were empty. They walked hand in hand to approach them. Stream after stream of water were flowing over the rock face. Mary had been to Niagara Falls with Anna as a small road trip their freshman trip of college. These falls were totally different. They weren't as tall, but there was immense artistry in the way the rivets of water flowed in different directions.

They stared in silence at the falls. The guide who had driven them there from Bujumbura, stood far away, giving them the privacy to take in the falls.

Just the two of them, before a formidable force of nature.

"Lavinia and I were supposed to go here," Matthew said.

It was the first time Matthew had spoken of her and their ill-fated trip since they'd arrived.

"We were supposed to come here our last day in Burundi," Matthew told her.

She squeezed his hand as they looked up at the falls.

"Lavinia never got to see this," He whispered, his voice going a little hoarse.

She knew he was holding back tears. She leaned on his shoulder.

"You know that you can always talk about her to me," Mary told him, "I promised I won't get jealous."

Mary was genuinely curious about the woman who had shaped Matthew's life so deeply.

"Thank you for that," Matthew said, "She was top-notch. She was pretty and a good singer, but she had this pure heart of gold. She was constantly kind and brave and giving. People like that are hard to find today."

Mary thought of herself, with sharp edges, a prickly exterior, and a guarded heart. She was no Lavinia Swire. She knew that Matthew cared for her, but she imagined that Lavinia was a marvel in her own right.

"She never caused a moment of pain in her life and she didn't deserve it in her own," Matthew told her. "I am grateful that my painful life has led me to you Mary, but I wish that Lavinia could have seen this waterfall. I wish didn't have to- to go through what she did."

He was crying now. Not loose tears, but hearty sobs. Mary was grateful that the guide had given them space. She gathered Matthew in her arms, her head fitting in the crevice of his neck.

"She's here, Matthew," Mary whispered, "I believe it. I bet when she passed, she got to see all of the world. I bet she came here and I bet she is here now. She's always going to be with you. She's watching over you."

Mary believed it thoroughly.

Matthew sobbed into her hair.

She didn't mind.

He took a shaky breath in and out, trying to calm himself from crying. "She's happy for us. I have to know she is. She would give her love."

Now Mary was beginning to cry too. Tears welled up in her eyes for a woman she'd never known. But she could feel her generosity in Matthew's memories. She hoped that in time he'd share more with her. Mary wanted to know how they fell in love, how Matthew proposed.

"When you care for me, it doesn't mean you love her any less," Mary said, "You know that, right? She'll always be part of you."

Matthew pulled back and Mary looked up to his face. It was pained and tearstained. Her hands moved to cup his cheeks, her thumbs smoothing over the remaining tears. She loved him for his vulnerability. She loved him. It was ringing in her head again.

_I love him._

She couldn't tell him that right after he cried about his dead financée. That would be probably the most tactless thing she could do.

Yet she couldn't stop it. The words tumbled from her lips on her own accord.

"I love you," She said, her voice vaguely strangled by tears, "You must know how much I love you. I can't believe I just said that. It's not the right time. I shouldn't have said anything. But I don't care. I need to say. I'm glad it's out of my mouth. I love you."

Then Matthew, with residual tears in his eyes, began to kiss Mary so thoroughly she nearly toppled backwards if it wasn't for his strong, protective arms holding her close. His full lips molded around her own, each movement full of a mix of eagerness and desperation. She hadn't expected this reaction from him.

When she recovered from being dazed by his lips, she realized that Matthew shouldn't be kissing her at all. Her hands went to his arms and she pushed him back.

"Stop, you can't catch mono," Mary said, both dizzy and giddy, "This is a bad idea and your immune system and you've got to stop."

"I really don't care if I catch mono," Matthew laughed, dipping his head back to kiss her some more.

"And Mary?" He said, between kisses.

"Hmm?" She hummed into his lips, giving up on preserving his health.

"I love you too," He said, before moving to kiss her neck.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This last scene is the only time I cried while writing this (and then again while editing it). I hope you liked it! Reviews make me smile :)


	16. Chapter 16: Phase 16- Rehearsal Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey pals. I'm sick in bed today so I thought I'd post another chapter. If there are more errors than normal, blame the fact that I'm sick. At this point, the chapters start to get a little shorter than previous as the pace picks up. I apologize for that, I know there is nothing better than sitting down to a long juicy chapter- but well you'll have to survive with slightly shorter ones :)

Matthew, miraculously, never caught mono.

In fact, after that they gave up on the no kissing rule almost immediately. When they returned to Paris, Matthew spent the night in her apartment. They wasted no time in their coupling: clothes shed as they entered the door, kisses as he pushed her against the counter, and the sound of his name echoing from the walls. They laid together in the middle of her floor, panting, cooling.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

They greeted each other with the same words when Mary arrived in New York the next weekend. They went to another Broadway show, with dancing and Gershwin music and a backdrop of Paris. After they went to drinks at a exquisite bar inside an exclusive artists' club in the Meatpacking District. Mary led him up to the roof to look out over the cityscape, repeating the words as kissed him with New York City rooftops as their backdrop.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

This time his whispered it in her hair, as she lay asleep beside in the Parc Floral. The afternoon had started with ice cream beside the Chateau Vincennes, followed by a picnic in the park. But Mary, constantly exhausted, had opted for a nap on the blanket. Matthew didn't mind- she was beautiful in sleep. Her fierce features calm, dark hair and lashes contrasting against her pale skin. When she whispered the words back drowsily, still have claimed by sleep, Matthew grinned.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

They repeated the words to each other as they laid naked, bodies cooling in Matthew's bed in New York. The air conditioner was buzzing and Parks and Rec was still playing on the TV in other room. But they were so content. Blissfully and beautifully content to be together.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

She said the words into her phone, as she fell asleep at night. Tucked into her bed in Paris, all she could think about was a man on the other side of the ocean who she loved so immensely.

It was moments like these when Mary wished they weren't so far from each other. She knew they were far, far luckily than most couples in this situation. Even though they lived thousands of miles away from each other, they were able to see each other each weekend. They'd spent weeks together- for Wimbledon and for Burundi- which allowed them to grow. But there were moments, many moments, like tonight where Mary wished that they weren't so far from each other. Some nights she wished from arms to be wrapped around her, for his breath on the back of her neck. She knew that there was so much they could take of jet lag, and calculating time zones, and Matthew taking off work to come visit- before something would have to give.

"One week until Sybil's wedding," she told him, trying to keep her eyes open a little bit longer, so she could talk to him just a little bit longer. "Have you finalized all your plans?"

"Yes," Matthew said, "I've taken off of work. I can't say they are too pleased with all I've missed recently-"

"Don't risk your job, Matthew."

"Mary, don't worry about it," Matthew said, "I've been working on some other things recently anyway."

Mary knew that well. She glanced at the pile of paperwork on her desk that she hadn't told Matthew about yet. She knew that it meant life-changing things for her if she submitted it. She knew that it would make Matthew very happy, so maybe that was what scared her about it.

"Like job things?" She asked, lightly.

"Maybe, we'll see," He said.

She didn't press him on it. She didn't want him to press her secret project, not that he knew about it. But she understood wanting to keep an endeavor secret until one was truly ready to share.

"Have you got everything settled for the wedding?" Matthew asked, 'Your maid of honor dress and flowers and the details."

"Yes," Mary said, thinking about how excited she was for Matthew to see her, "I'm all ready."

"And is Sybil?" Matthew asked.

"I wish she wasn't," Mary retorted, thinking of her sister was about to wed a horrible man and no one could do anything to stop it. She wondered how they had all let it get this far.

"It's funny," Matthew said, "Because Tom said he had a plan."

"What?" Mary asked.

"He said he was going to try to find a way to break them up," Matthew explained.

"Well I suppose more power to him," Mary said, "But I don't think anything is going to work."

"I don't think so either," Matthew said, "He's never mentioned it again, so I suppose it never worked."

"Whether we like it or not, Sybil Crawley is going to marry Larry Grey," Mary said, "I suppose the best we can do is act like we support it. Besides, if they call off the wedding now, it'll just be another scandal."

"But when is it worth it, Mary? When is someone's happiness and future more important than a headline in a cheap tabloid?" Matthew pressed.

"As a Crawely, it's never been."

* * *

 

It was nearly a week later when Mary walked down the Strand. She still had a few hours before she need to catch the train to Berkshires. Her meeting she'd been in London for had finished early, so she ducked in to the Courtald Gallery at Somerset House was right next to where her meeting had been. Besides, it was one of her favorite museums in the world, so she was eager for an hour or so of revisiting her favorite paintings.

After purchasing a ticket, she began to wind her way through the museum. The building itself was lovely in it's own right, but the collection of art was just as breathtaking. She found herself sitting before her favorite painting, lulled to just take in the details.

"Mary?"

She turned her head, surprised completely to hear _his_ voice. What on earth was he doing here?

"Matthew," she said, "Why are you here?"

"I didn't expect to see you here," He admitted.

"Well, obviously me neither," Mary said, "I thought you were getting in tomorrow."

"I actually arrived a day early," Matthew said.

"Shall we go a cappuccino to discuss it?" She suggested.

"Hmm, well, that's the thing," He said, slipping onto the bench beside her, looking up at the painting, "I'm not quite sure I'm ready to tell you."

"You know you can tell me anything," Mary said.

"I do," Matthew said, "It's rather good though, so I'd rather not tell you till I know it is for sure. I don't want to get your hopes up, or my own for that matter. It's nearly there. You know I'll tell you as soon as I can."

"I would say that I completely don't understand," Mary remarked, "Only that I do. I'm not inclined to tell you about the meeting I was just at. Same reason- good thing, but there is still a lot hanging in the air."

He put his arm around her, his palm settling on her low back.

"Do you think we are being silly?" Matthew said, "Should we just up and say what we are planning to each other?

"Maybe we should," Mary admitted, "After all, what if we are planning things that don't work together."

"No," Matthew said, "That won't happen. There isn't any sort of arrangement that we couldn't find a way to work for us. Even if I took a job in Hong Kong and you took a job in Rio- we'd find a way to make it work."

"You've found me out," Mary said, her voice clearly joking, "I'm moving to Rio. Figured that I'd make a go of it at the Olympics."

"Oh, yes, my darling, I hear that everyone does best at competitive sport when they've just had mono," Matthew teased her back, "But do regale me, love, exactly what sport are you entering in?"

"It's a new one, rhythmic gymnastics and horseback riding together," Mary laughed loudly.

"I think you are better off with competitive sleeping," Matthew chuckled back.

An old lady also studying the painting glared at her, then apparently realizing that Mary was famous, slipped out her camera phone and started unabashingly taking pictures. Matthew wordlessly stood and pulled her to her feet, and they set off to another part of the museum.

"Pity we had to leave," Matthew whispered, when the wound the stairwell, "It was a remarkable painting."

"My favorite," Mary explained. She paused, then decided, "Let's keep our secrets, just a bit longer. If you don't mind."

"I don't," Matthew said, "Though I admit I'm excited to learn what yours is."

She grinned coyly, changing the subject, "So how about those cappuccinos? Then maybe heading back to the Eaton Square house? It's empty and we don't have to take the train till tomorrow."

"Oh, yes," Matthew said, "That will do nicely."

"Just to clarify, your secret isn't another woman?' Mary asked, her voice was teasing, but there was a little truth behind it.

"Mary, would I risk mono from kissing you if there was another woman?" He laughed, then a bit more seriously, "If the secret worries you, Mary, I'll tell you right away."

"No, it's fine," Mary said, "I trust you. I love you and I trust you."

"You too, Mary, you too," He said.

* * *

 

They took the train the next morning to West Berkshires. Mary slept on Matthew's shoulder the whole ride, but Matthew didn't mind a bit. They arrived to find a car waiting for them at the station, ready to whisk them to the venue. It was a large, castle-like building with sweeping grounds that seemed to extend endlessly.

"It's as if we are in some period drama," Matthew remarked, as the made their way up the long winding drive.

Mary and Matthew were assigned a brilliant green bedroom with one of the best views. Matthew was sure that the Crawley's had the best of the guestrooms reserved for them. Matthew would normally begrudge these excesses, but he couldn't deny how lovely this room was.

The bellhop left their luggage on a rack, before leaving, sending Mary immediately into organization mode.

"So the wedding party and their families are getting here this morning," Mary explained, pulling out a few pairs of heels and lining them up neatly. Matthew smiled that Mary had just seemed to count him among her family, the words settling warmly in his chest. "We've never actually had everyone together, because half of the bridesmaids have spent the summer sick with stupid mono. So first thing is to make sure the dresses look okay with flowers and aesthetics."

"Isn't it a bit too late for that?" Asked Matthew.

"No, Mother has brought in a tailor who will fix anything we need and we have three different sets of bridal flowers depending on what looks best," Mary explained, "Honestly, this whole thing is very- wait what is it that Ivy told me the other day- it's all very extra. Apparently that's what the kids say these days."

"Extra indeed," Matthew concurred.

She started to unzip a garment bag, revealing a white gown. Matthew watched as she pulled it out.

"Is that Sybil's gown?" Matthew asked, his forehead frowning as to why Mary had it.

"No, it's mine," Mary said distractedly, pealing off the romper she'd been traveling in that morning. Matthew tried to not completely lose his train of thought as he saw Mary standing there in nothing but her lacy bra and underwear.

"Mary, is there something I missed?" He questioned, his voice baffled, "I didn't know that you were tying a knot this weekend."

Mary stuck her tongue out as she stepped into the dress, "Can you help zip me, darling?" He walked over to her back, sighing a little at the sight of her back peaking out, her hair pulled up to avoid being caught in the zipper. "Sybil is having the bridesmaids in white. Something about Kate Middleton having done it, which means it was probably actually Mother's idea."

When he finished the zipping, she revolved towards him.

"What do you think?" Her voice was timid, light, delicate.

In front of him, Matthew saw a bride. The dress was sheer lace over shoulders and chest, with solid white fabric covering her chest and extending to the floor. Matthew was sure if he asked Mary she would be able to describe all the details of gown to him. But he didn't need that, he could see so many beautiful details before him: her dark hair's contrast against the white of her dress, the way her porcelain skin seems to blend into the fabric, the unusually demure smile on her face.

For the first time, he saw their future spelled out for him. Mary had mentioned that she could see the relationship lasting a long time. This was it: she in a white dress, smiling at him. He wanted _this_. He wasn't sure when or if Mary would wish to wed, but he would wait it out. Sometime, in his lifetime, he wanted her like this- he wanted her to be his.

"Beautiful," He whispered, leaning forward to put the lightest of kisses on lips.

She gave him a coy smile, "I'll be busy all afternoon. Doing this dress thing, then changing for the rehearsal, then rehearsing. The rehearsal dinner is at 6 in the outdoor pavillion. I think Tom will be there by then, Anna and Giovanni too.

"What shall I do while you're gone?" Matthew asked.

"Enjoy yourself," Mary said, "The grounds here are lovely. I'm actually quite jealous. I'd love to explore them. I think there is a pool, if you fancy a swim. There might be a stable actually, if you like to ride. Do you? Isn't that funny? We've been dating for months already and I don't even know if you've ever rode a horse."

Matthew chucked, running a finger along her jaw line, "I've never, actually."

"We'll change that sometime," Mary decided, "I used to be mad about horses when I was younger. I had a pony named Diamond."

"Was she white?" Matthew asked, imagining a tiny Mary asaddle a small little white horse.

"Black, actually," Mary explained, "with a diamond on her head."

His image changed and he pictured a pony with hair that matched Mary's. He grinned, "You'll have to show me pictures."

"I will, but now I've got to dash," She promised, grabbing her phone and wristlet, "Have fun enjoying this place. I think one of the owners might have been an ancient Egyptian archeologist. Maybe you'll find a sarcophagus."

"I'll be sure to report all King Tut sightings to you, darling," He laughed.

He pulled her back for one, two, three more kisses, before releasing her to head to the wedding preparations.

He passed the morning walking around the grounds. Tom and Isobel arrived in the afternoon. They'd flown over together, which Matthew was grateful for. He liked to know that Tom was there to help take care of his mother, as well as his unwanted car. Matthew hadn't seen the SUV since he'd tossed the keys at Tom and to be honest, things were probably better for it. The three of them had had tea together in the Rose Garden, but he'd lost track of them after that.

In exchange, he'd found Mary again at the rehearsal dinner. She was elegant, dressed in a long-sleeved, knee length navy dress and pearls. There was a tiredness to her- dark bags under her eyes not completely covered by make up, a sallowness to her skin, and the way she seemed so thin in some places and bloated in others. It was evident that she was still recovering, still exhausted. He was proud of her for the energy and façade she was keeping up for Sybil, but he worried that she was pushing herself too much.

They found a table tucked under a shady tree where they sipped white wine, with Atticus and Rose and Anna and Giovanni.

"It's lucky you were able to make it, Atticus," Anna remarked, "The US Open starts so soon."

"I'm afraid I'll have to duck out quite early tomorrow to fly to that States," Atticus admitted, "But I couldn't miss Sybil's wedding. Even if, well-"

It seemed every guest at the wedding seemed to think the bride and groom an unsuitable match.

"Lots of people seem to be miraculously appearing for the wedding," Rose commented, "I've heard that Robert Crawley, CEO will grace us with his presence tomorrow."

Mary nodded, "Astounding isn't it? I'm still waiting for him to come up with a reason to bail."

Matthew's stomach churned. He would actually be meeting Robert Crawley CEO, this elusive, God-like persona that seemed to steer their lives by e-mails and make SUVs appear at his doorstep. He had never known what to make of the situation. But now, whether he liked it or not, he would be coming face to face with the man who had fated, or forced, him to meet Mary.

Seeing his momentary anxiety, Mary reached out and rubbed her hand over his.

He then realized that Robert Crawley CEO wasn't the only family member he had yet to meet.

"What about Edith? When does she get here?" Matthew blurted.

"Oh right," Mary said, "I haven't told you about that yet. Edith called, during the rehearsal to say she couldn't make it. Something like, 'I thought I'd be able to swing it, but I can't.' God, I'm so furious about it. I get wanting to be aloof to Crawley drama, but that's no reason to miss your sister's own wedding."

"I'm sure she tried her best," Anna said kindly.

"I don't know," Mary said, her voice heavy, "I truly don't. How could I know anything about Edith when I only communicate with her three times a year via text? The functioning of her brain or heart are a mystery to me."

"Is that your friend Tom?" Rose interrupted, looking up from their table.

Matthew looked up to see Tom Branson stalking across the lawn towards Sybil.

"It is," Matthew said, "He got here earlier. We had tea, ."

"Do you think he's still going on about that 'plan' or whatever?" Mary asked, her eyes following his to Tom's irate form.

"He can't be now, surely?" Matthew said.

"It would be a disaster," Mary said, "He must know what will be at stake if this wedding goes wrong."

"Do you think he's going to stand up during the ceremony and call if off?" Giovanni asked.

Anna, Rose, and Atticus shared a hearty laugh, but Mary and Matthew exchanged concerned glances instead.

"I think that Tom cares too much about Sybil to ruin her wedding now," Matthew said.

Mary raised an eyebrow, "That's exactly what I worry about it. Tom cares too much about Sybil."

* * *

 

"A word with the bride, if you please," Tom said, as he approached the table where she was sitting with Cora, Larry, Gwen, and Larry's father.

"Tom, not right now," Sybil complained.

He saw Larry's eyes narrow on him. Gwen raised her eyes to his, hesitation and excitement evident in them. She knew what was going to happen now, what was at stake.

"Syb, it's really important," Tom said.

Sybil bit her lip, put a peck on Larry's cheek and whispered, "I'll be right back."

She stood and walked towards Tom. Gwen gave him a final nod. This was happening.

He led Sybil away towards a copse of trees. It was quieter here, out of earshot from the wedding guests. It was quiet enough that he could hear his heart hammering. He was doing this. He was really doing this.

"What is this about, Tom?" Sybil asked, her voice severe.

"Here is what is going to happen," Tom told her, his voice was hushed, but his tone urgent, "I am going to tell you about the despicable person that Larry Grey is. When I am done, you have a choice. If you believe me, you will cancel this wedding right now. If you don't, I'll publish what I've found- then you'll be forced to cancel."

"What the hell?" Sybil asked, "You're going to force me to cancel my wedding? You can't do that."

"I can, and I will," Tom said, his voice angry.

"So what is that you have on Larry?" Sybil said, dismissively, "That he faced disciplinary action while at university for cheating on an exam? He's told me about that. He's old family friends with Richard Carlisle who has a vendetta against Mary? We've talked about that and we didn't invite him to the wedding. Tom, we've talked through all these things. Because we are a couple. Because we are in love. You can't stop us."

"God, Syb, I wish that was it," Tom said, "If that was all it was, I wouldn't be doing this."

"Then what? What is it? What is so hideous that makes me unable to marry a man that I love? What is it that makes you doubt that I know my mind?" Sybil said, the edge evident in her tone.

"He's nearly out of funds for next campaign run," Tom told her, "In fact, he has been for the last two years. He's not getting enough donations. He needs a surefire way to guarantee that he gets lots and lots of money. Funny, how you just seemed to enter the equation at the right time."

"You're saying that he is marrying me for my money?" Sybil questioned, still heated, "Based on a coincidence? Tom people get low on money all the time. That doesn't mean that we need to scrutinize all of their life decisions for it. And that certainly doesn't mean that he is marrying me for my money."

"Does it?" Tom asked. "Because Gwen hacked into his private e-mail account and found proof of it."

"Like what?" Sybil shot.

"Like e-mails detailing how to ruin your trip to DC so that you'd be so scared you wouldn't take the job," Tom explained, "Because he sees you as a threat to his career and his hand in the money. You are much more useful to him if you are tucked in New York with your charity work and brunches, than in DC where you might pose a risk to his new campaign funds."

"That's bullshit," Sybil said, "You're making it up."

"I wish I was," Tom said, "Read the e-mails yourself."

"You're just doing this because you've got stupid feelings for me and I haven't reciprocated," Sybil shot, "This is all about you. Typical man- this is all about you."

"I'm doing this because I care too much about you, Sybil, to let you ruin your life," Tom said, "Larry is the selfish one. He is the one making your life, your career, your money all about him."

"You're delusional," Sybil said, "You're a conspiracy theorist. You can't actually believe this."

"Believe me, Sybil. If you don't believe me, listen to Gwen," Tom argued.

"You probably brainwashed her while she was high on post surgery medication," Sybil said, rolling her eyes.

"Listen, Syb, you get now. You get the next two minutes before Cora or Larry or someone else comes looking for you to make up your mind," Tom said, his voice tight and urgent, "You decide right now if you are ready to spend the rest of your life with this man. A man who is using you for gain."

"I don't need time to decide. I've decided. Of course, I'm getting married. Of course, I'm marrying Larry," Sybil said.

"Fine, then I'm publishing," Tom snapped.

"You've got no ground to stand on. No one will believe your article," Sybil shot.

"Just watch," Tom said.

* * *

 

It didn't take long for Mary to nod off on Matthew's shoulder. Now the sun had sunk low in the sky. There were candles lit on each table and fairy lights around the outdoor pavilion. It gave the area a warm and charming look.

"She looks exhausted," Rose commented.

"She is," Matthew nodded, "The doctors said that she'll be exhausted for a few months even after she's no longer ill."

"Poor thing," Anna said, "She's far too driven for an illness like that."

"I agree," He said, putting a kiss on her forehead. He stroked her hair gently.

She looked up at him, her eyes blinking open, "Hmm, did I drift off?"

"You did," He said, "Sometimes I think you become narcoleptic when you caught mono."

They all laughed.

"Shall we retire for the evening, darling?' He asked her.

She nodded, her eyes still laced with sleep, as they rose.

"Good night," She said to her friends, "See you all tomorrow, yes?'

After they all exchanged good byes, Matthew led her towards the house. She leaned deeply into him, his arm wrapped around her back. They navigated their way through the ornate entrance hall, up the stairs, to their bedroom.

"I wonder what this place looked like during it's hay day?" Mary murmured as she scanned the room, "With servants walking up and down the corridors, vintage gowns."

"Probably not minimalist enough for your sensibilities," Matthew acknowledged.

"True," Mary laughed, as she began digging through her suitcase to find her pajamas. He watched as she pulled out black sleep shorts with white polka-dots on them, with tiny soft pom-poms dangling off of the hem, and a white tank top. He watched as she began to change. He wanted to reach for her, cup her breasts, kiss her neck- till he found his way inside of her. But he could see the exhaustion haunting her eyes, so instead reach out to gather her into his arms and tug her down into the bed.

It wasn't long after that Mary and Matthew lay dozing, not yet having reached deep sleep but beginning to swim in it's murky waters. Somewhere far away, there was a wrapping on their door.

"Mary, Matthew," a voice called, "Open up."

"Mary," Matthew grunted, rousing from sleep, "I think someone is at the door."

"Screw them, I'm sleeping," Mary murmured, tucking herself deeper into his side.

"It's urgent," the voice at the door said.

 _Sybil_ , Mary placed, _it was definitely Sybil's_.

"Mary, Matthew, open up now."

 _And Mother_ , she added to herself.

"I think we should get up," Matthew said, running a finger over her bare shoulder.

"But it's the middle of the night," Mary moaned.

"It's actually just past 9PM," He said, "I can't expect that they thought we'd retire so early."

They reluctantly extracted themselves, pulling dressing gowns from inside the closet, trying to come with some assemblency of competence.

"I feel like we are safe in here for a moment, while the storm rages outside," Mary said.

"We're about to open to the door to the tempest, aren't we?" Matthew said.

He pulled her close, wrapping his arms firmly around her. He kissed her hair, before she reached up for kiss his lips.

"Let's brave it then, shall we?" Matthew said, smiling fondly down at her.

Mary grasped the doorknob and turned it, not knowing what she was going to witness.

It was Sybil, tear stained face, still dressed in her frock from the rehearsal dinner. Cora's face was livid.

"Mary, the wedding is cancelled," Sybil exclaimed, "Larry's packing his bags."

"And it's all Tom Branson's fault," Cora added.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the drama is just beginning! See you at the next chapter and in the reviews!


	17. Chapter 17: Phase 17- Everything Falls Apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I mentioned in the last chapter, the length of chapter slows down in the last few chapters as the action speeds up so apologies for length. Speaking of apologies, sorry for such a large gap between chapters. There is a longer explanation on my tumblr, but basically through illness and travel plans I've been later to post than normal. I've basically written the final chapter twice over, but I still don't feel comfy with it yet- after all how do you put an ending on all of this? I can tell you that it will be 20 chapters + an epilogue, so we really aren't too far from the end.
> 
> Hope your holidays are well! I'm working a holiday fic for secret santa, so keep your eyes peeled for that in a few weeks :)

_Chapter 17: Phase 17- Everything Falls Apart_

Things felt blurry for a moment. Sybil's whimpers were the only sound in the hallway. Cora was pulling up an article on her iPad, Mary and Matthew sinking down onto the hallway floor to read it.

Tom, with the help of Gwen, had hacked into e-mails and text messages from Larry to members of his campaign staff. Larry had planned to marry Sybil in order to get money for his campaign. He had been faking his affection for Sybil the whole time. The language used in his e-mails made it clear that he didn't see her for than a pawn on his way to achieve success.

Mary felt her blood boil. Sybil deserved so much more than all this. She deserved someone who truly loved her. She deserved to have success, not because of her father's money, but because of her own hard work and ambition. She could honestly kill Larry Grey. Who was he to see Sybil for anything less than the marvel that she was?

Sybil let out a sob when Mary put the iPad down.

"Oh Sybil," Mary said, the sympathy leaking through her voice.

"That's disgusting," Matthew said.

"It's humiliating, heartbreaking," Sybil whined.

"You're upset?" Mary asked.

Sybil nodded with a sniffle.

"Come let's walk," Mary said, offering her hand to pull her close and then putting an arm around her.

"What should I do?" Matthew asked, evidently earnestly wanting to be helpful.

"Calm Cora down," Mary nodded at her mother's fuming figure, "Then figure out where Tom's gotten off to."

"Can do," Matthew said, giving her a salute, and a kiss.

They began to wander down the hallways, till they found the grand staircase. The house felt spooky now, with the corridors empty, but the whispers of gossip, the tension of scandal palpable throughout the building. Mary found the door the library open and was relieved to find it empty. She and Sybil settled on the couch there.

"Did you know about it?" Sybil asked, "About the things Tom found."

"I knew that he thought something suspicious was going on," Mary admitted, "But not exactly what. I knew he was going to try to change your mind. I didn't know it was going to be like this."

"He gave me a chance to cancel the wedding before he published," Sybil said.

"Why didn't you just cancel?" Mary asked, tilting her head to take her sister in. Then smiled, despite their differences, Mary knew why Sybil hadn't cancelled. "You're too stubborn for your own good."

"I just wanted to make a decision for myself. I feel like no one trusts me, no one thinks I can know my own mind," Sybil said.

"Sybil, there are other ways to make a statement to our family than to marry a horrible guy," Mary said, "Especially when that means being stuck to him forever. Did sign a prenup?"

Sybil shook her head dismally.

"Then you are so so lucky you got out of that," Mary said, honestly.

"I feel so used," Sybil murmured.

"I'm sure," Mary said. She was silent for a moment, flashes of her past dancing before her eyes. She hadn't thought of them much since she'd punched her ghosts in the face, but the trauma they caused her was something that would carry forever. She knew how Sybil felt. "That's how I felt with Tony, with Kemal. I felt like I wasn't worth anything."

Mary opened her arms to let Sybil snuggle beside her.

"But I had to teach myself that it wasn't true."

"You had Matthew to do that," Sybil said.

"Matthew is great. I'm lucky to have had his unwaivering support. But I've had to teach myself that on my own. You don't need romantic love to solve your problems, you have to start by learning to love yourself," Mary told her, wiping a tear from Sybil's face.

"But it's so embarrassing," Sybil groaned.

"I know, I know," Mary soothed, brushing her hair. "I hate say this, but you've many a scandal ahead of you. People will laugh when you get your heart broken. People will ridicule you if you look ill, if you gain weight, if you wear the wrong color. We didn't ask for this life, but it's the one we've been handed. You can decide to let it all bring you down, to obsess over headlines, or live beyond it. I'm not saying this is something I'm good at doing, but I've been getting better lately."

"I just can't believe I'll have to look at this headline on every magazine in line at Target, or every time I turn on twitter," Sybil moaned, "Have you seen some of the stuff that's come out already? ' _How could Official_Sybil_Crawley not realize he was using her for his money? Further proof the Crawley's are stupider than a brick._ ' Or here is a brilliant one, ' _I thought Sybil was smarter than her hoebag sister. Guess not. Crawely girls are best married off where real men can control the money._ '"

"It really sucks," Mary said, "You've every right to be mad. To hate the press, to hate Larry, to hate Tom, to hate anyone. But don't listen to the haters and don't hate yourself." Mary hugged her tighter, "Because you are really worth so much more than any terrible man makes you feel. You are so smart. You are so kind. I hope everyone comes to know that about you. And if they don't, I cherish the fact that I've gotten to the privilege of knowing the real Sybil Crawley."

Sybil began to cry harder, but Mary just rubbed her back soothingly. The worst part was over for Sybil: the raw, brutal, public heartbreak. It was now just helping her ride out of the pain.

* * *

Nearly an hour had passed, Matthew had helped Cora back to her room and called for some tea for her. He'd texted Rose, who he assumed was much better at calming middle-aged women.

He began meandering the corridors in search of Tom. He didn't know anything about the building at all, so he didn't have any real good guess as to where his best friend would be.

How could Tom have done this? He realized that there was something heroic about stopping an intelligent, but naïve girl from marrying a total bastard, but Tom had caused total chaos for the family. If Matthew had learned anything so far, it was that the Crawleys hated chaos- especially when it involved the press. Tom hds very, clearly evoked the press on this one.

But Matthew's true malice was for Larry. Larry had been nothing but cruel and manipulative to Sybil. He had very seriously intended to ruin her life, her future, her ambitions. The very notion made his blood boil. He'd become fond of his girlfriend's little sister in the time he'd come to know her. He knew she could accomplish anything she dreamed of if she put her mind to it.

He set off through a few hallways, looking aimlessly for Tom. He was now regretting leaving his phone in his room. It would have been much easier to just text him. He decided to double back, turning when he reached the lobby to head back up the stairs.

As he climbed them, he looked up to see a startled looking Larry coming down them quickly.

Matthew stepped in front of them.

"If you don't mind," Larry said, hostility clear in his tone, "I'd like to make a hasty exit."

"Running into the night with your tail between your legs?" Matthew said, his voice sour.

"Look, I did what I could to succeed. You're a lawyer, you know," Larry told him.

"No, I don't know at all. I've based my life upon being the defender of the downtrodden. I strive for something more in my life than stealing money from young girls," Matthew said, stepping closer.

"Oh don't be so proud," Larry spat, "Pure, good humanitarian Matthew? Don't pretend that you are motivated by money as much as I am."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Matthew asked, his head spinning. Did he really think that Matthew was dating Mary for the money?

But of course, that was how it had begun. At one time, Matthew _had_ been dating Mary for the money. They'd come so far since then, it was easy to forget the underlining financial motivation for the endeavor. Matthew had kept the secret, telling only Tom and his mother. He knew Mary had been just as vigilant about guarding the secret. Surely there was no way that it had gotten out.

Yet, Larry stood before him, wagging his sinister eyebrows.

"Tom what-ever-his-name-is isn't the only one who can hack into an inbox," Larry shot, "And he's an amateur journalist. I have friends in much higher places. Don't think I can't ruin your entire life."

"That's an empty threat," Matthew said, "I think you're bluffing. You know nothing about me or my motivations. But I know a lot about you. I know you are the kind of person who thinks of nothing but yourself. I know you are manipulative and vile. I honestly believe that no matter what the Crawley's are better off without you."

"Is that so? Let's just see, shall we?" Larry said, his voice intense with rage, "See how much the Crawley's come to regret crossing me."

He stormed down the hall, suitcase still in hand, and let the door slam. Matthew stood there, jaw open, watching him leave. He thought numbly that Larry Grey was the closest thing he'd experienced on earth to cartoon villain and was quite happy to see the last of him.

* * *

It was an hour later when they found their way back to their room. Mary had finally coaxed Sybil to bed. She was definitely upset, but she was calm enough to fall into a fitful sleep.

Mary was happy to open the door to their room and see her boyfriend sitting up on the bed waiting for her. He looked slightly rumpled and tired, his hair sticking up in strange directions. She imagined she must look the same way. She wanted to be in bed asleep with him as soon as possible.

"How is she?" Matthew asked, as Mary slipped off her dressing gown and hung it in the closet.

"She's crestfallen," Mary said, "But at least she is peaceful enough to sleep."

"That's good," Matthew replied, reaching out his hand to pull her towards him.

"I must admit, it is nice to have a scandal that isn't about me," Mary said, "Though I am so horrified this all unfolded for Sybil."

She climbed into bed, letting their bodies fall back among the covers, tucking themselves in. The bed was comfortable, and she felt even safer as Matthew's arms came rest around her.

"Did you find Tom?" She asked, drowsily.

"No, I didn't," Matthew said, biting his lip.

"Do you think he's run off into the night?" Mary asked.

"I know that Larry has," Matthew admitted.

"Really?" Mary asked.

"I ran into him on the way out," Matthew told her, "He was menacing as always."

"Well, I'm happy we are finally rid of him," Mary remarked, "We've endured the storm."

"I'm not quite sure it's blown over," Matthew said, "Larry said some things that were really concerning."

"What do you mean?" Mary said. She was so sleepy, yet in her stomach, a tendril of anxiety was beginning to spin.

"He kept implying that I had the same scandal about me, like he knew about the financial reasons for how this relationship began," Matthew detailed.

"But surely he can't? We've kept that secret carefully wrapped. It's probably just an empty threat," Mary said, "And besides, I'm sleeply. We can brave that storm in the morning."

Matthew kissed her head, "Good night, my storm braver."

* * *

Matthew wondered if it was becoming a habit to wake to a racket. His phone was buzzing loudly, as was Mary's. Matthew had some sort of awareness that it had been buzzing for quite a while now. Sleep seemed far for more luscious than any sort of interaction with whoever might be trying to reach him.

He tried to blink his eyes open. Mary was lying beside him. A few stray rays of light were pouring in, illuminating a thin line of light across her body- her eyes closed softly, her lips pursed peacefully, her dark hair sprayed around her in elegant disarray. He thought of all the times he'd been so lucky to wake up beside her. It never got old to him. He could always find some new bit of her beauty to revel in. He wanted to hold on to each of these precious moments, but he had the comfort of knowing that they weren't at risk of disappearing. This was a long-term love.

At that very thought of consistency, his stomach churned. A tiny voice in the back of his head cried, "That's what you thought about Lavinia. You thought you'd have her forever and look what happened." He should know better than to think that any bit of love or domesticity was anything but ephemeral.

So, he reached out and brushed a hand through her hair, her eyes blinking open in an echo to his touch.

The phones were still buzzing.

"Why is it that we can't get a moment of rest?" Mary whined.

"This is rather burdensome, isn't it?" Matthew said.

There was a moment of silence between them. Just the soft silk of her hair between his fingers.

"Do you think that you were right?" Mary said, her works making his stomach plumet again, "About the storm not being over?"

Matthew swallowed, thinking about the delicacy of this moment. All of sudden it felt like everything they had could be blown away in an instant.

"It could just be people commenting on Sybil's wedding," Matthew suggested, hopefully.

"Matthew, the last time our phones were buzzing this much, it was because there was a scandal about us," Mary said, her voice both practical and worried, "You heard Larry's threats last night. He might have a story out there on us."

"Mary," Matthew said, "Whatever the phones say, know that I love you. I love you, always."

Mary stared at him, fear shining back at him.

"I love you too," She said, as if something was stuck her throat.

The phones continued to cackle with their buzzing. Calls and texts filtering in. Their sound created a backdrop of tension between them.

"There is no scandal we can't handle," He told her, letting his voice sound brave. "Our very relationship was bourn out of scandal."

"That's true, isn't it," Mary remarked.

"I've told you darling," Matthew said, "There isn't a storm we can't brave."

"If you insist," Mary said, giving Matthew a weak smile.

"Shall we just open them?" Matthew asked.

"Wait," she said, "One thing first."

She leaned forward and kissed him full on the mouth. He knew that Mary Crawley wasn't a fan of open mouth kisses in the morning, she was too particular about morning breath. But in this moment, she initiated the kiss, letting her tongue tangle with his. He knew her well enough to appreciate the vulnerability of her action.

He gathered her in his arms, squeezing her tightly. Her hands came to rest on his face. She pulled back and let the tip of her nose touch his.

"You are mine, Mary," Matthew said, firmly, "Whatever we read on our phones, whatever the media says. It won't change that."

"I know," she said, "I believe you."

They nodded slowly at each other, before moving their hands to grab their respective phones.

The screen illuminated to show a blur of texts from co-workers, friends from uni, cousins, and old acquaintances. None of these people seemed to care before, but now that some unknown scandal had erupted about him- everyone seemed to have something to say.

_Is it true?_

_Did you actually not know?_

_Wow. You had us all fooled buddy. But it looks like she had you fooled too._

_Yikes. Hope you are okay, man._

_Did you see this? Is it true?_

That text was linked to an article complete with a video, reported by Richard Carlisle. Matthew looked at his phone. It was nearing 10AM, which meant it couldn't be later that 5AM in New York. Richard must have reported it on while they were sleeping, while it was still night in America.

The video sprang to life automatically. Carlisle's weasel-like voice piercing their room. He looked over his phone for an instant to see Mary's body petrify. He lifted the phone between them so they both could see.

"Tonight's story concerns the chronic harlot Mary Crawley and the fourth scandal to haunt her name this year. This story stems from her relationship with Matthew Crawley, of so-called no relation, which began this spring. The relationship turned heads from the start, as it began shortly after Mary's careless wiles destroyed the Foyle-Lane-Fox Marriage. Many believed it was too soon for Mary to dive into another relationship when she had just ruined another couple's marriage. The relationship also turned heads as it seemed that Matthew Crawley's humanitarian sensibilities did not match with Mary Crawley's risqué ones. Yet, their relationship gathered support after their early photographs around New York City, then later in Paris, Cannes, and London. After Matthew Crawley's devious punch at Foyle and Pamuk at Atticus Aldrige's Wimbledon After Party, the relationship gained increased popularity. Mary even tried to play the humanitarian alongside Matthew, traveling to Burundi to work on a line of purses whose proceeds would go to Matthew's charity."

Matthew felt his body coarse with rage, because he knew how this story was going to twist. He knew what came next in this tale. He knew how it was going to look to others watching.

"However, despite the fame that his couple has seemed to garner, there has been a cruel twist to their happily ever after. The relationship is not the idyllic thing it was once perceived as. In fact, it turns out the entire thing was orchestrated by Robert Crawley in a pathetic attempt to redeem Mary's reputation. A series of e-mails released to us by an anonymous source, revealed that Matthew Crawley was to be paid a half million dollars to pose as Mary's boyfriend for the course of five months. He evidently accepted the offer. After all, his charity was to help those with rare tropical diseases. How could he say no?"

Matthew let out a grunt of anger. He didn't want to listen any longer, but he couldn't look away. He was going to look like a sellout. He was going to look weak and easily bribed. If only the audience knew their relationship. If only they could understand the love that blossomed out of the situation.

"If you are sitting here watching this report, you might be scratching your head. If you look at any picture of this couple you'll see nothing but affection radiating from their faces. Indeed they look a vision of true love. However, even this is a lie. Matthew Crawley has, since the very beginning, been merely a pawn in Mary Crawley's hand."

Matthew's stomach felt a jab of fear. Mary's eyes looked up him with pure horror plastered in them. For the first time, Matthew wondered if it was fear of a falsified scandal or fear of a true one. Could this be real?

Mary's hand quickly raised to pause the video. Carlisle's speech halted and leaving silence ringing between them.

"We don't need to watch anymore," Mary said, quickly.

Matthew felt his fear and anger merge together. This overpowering emotion suddenly directed itself at Mary. His trust for her was sliding through his fingers.

"Why?" He asked, "Why, Mary? God, is there something you are keeping from me?"

"I can explain," Mary said rushed, her voice catching again, "Let me explain."

Matthew couldn't look at her a second later. He clicked play as Mary let out a sigh of seeming disappointment and resignation.

"Leaked e-mails reveal that since an apparent rocky first date, Mary has been faking attraction to Matthew on orders of her father. The e-mail dated in April reads, ' _To be honest, Mary, I think this would work best if you tried to get him to fall in love with you. If you spend the whole time faking it you'll both make yourselves miserable. I know you hate this idea, but if you can at least make him enjoy it, you'll make it less painful for the both of you.'_ This same concept is later repeated in a May e-mail that read, ' _Like I said before, if at all possible, make him fall in love with you. I know that you don't care for him, but if he can care for you- it will make the whole thing more authentic.'_ It appears that Matthew Crawley fell for Mary's ploy, like so many others have done. Hopefully our report helps him to see Mary Crawley for the serial scandal that she is. We just hope that the Crawley's at least pay out Matthew despite the cruel end to the scandal. At least it will have a happy ending for children with rare tropical disease- and all those who shamelessly enjoy following the Mary Crawley scandals."

Matthew let the phone drop onto the bed. His hands were shaking. He extracted himself from the bed, pushing back the sheets and climbing out in one sweeping movement. He was standing looking down at Mary whose eyes were lit with anxiety.

"Matthew-," she began.

He was wearing just his boxers, feeling exposed. Mary was still lying on the bed below, the balance between then falling out of equilibrium. He needed to get space from her. His trust for her was crumbling like dust.

"Is it true?" He asked.

She sat up, the sheets slipping from her shoulders. Her hair was mused, her eyes were sleep creased. It had seemed endearing moments ago, but now it frustrated him. Everything about her frustrated him. He hated it because he didn't want to be frustrated by her. He wanted to love her. He did. _He did_. But he didn't. It was falling all apart, everything between them slipping through his fingers.

"Of course not," Mary protested, but then she looked down, her face distraught, "But well yes actually."

He couldn't hold back his disappointed grunt.

"Wait, listen though, that's how it started-" She began again.

He couldn't believe this. "That's what they always say. In fucking movie like this. My life is just bit of entertainment, isn't it? Just a fucking movie. I can't listen to this."

He ran his hand through his hair and went to look out the window. The sweeping grounds of the estate were before him. He felt weirdly disjointed here now. This space, though intimidating before, was safe because of Mary's presence. But now that things between them had become unsettled, everything around him felt menacing. Everything was a threat. Nothing could be trusted.

"To have made all of this work, you'd have to be a good a liar. Are you a good liar?" He asked, more rhetorically than anything.

He turned back to see Mary had risen from the bed now. She was bent over her suitcase to rummage through it.

"Matthew, honestly, have some sense," She said, tugging off her shorts for a pair of leggings, "Do you actually think that we would have shared the moments we have shared if I didn't love you? If I didn't really care for you?"

She pulled off her silky camisole, a hooded jumper in her hand. She put it down on the bed. She was standing before him in just her bra, her legs framed with the dark fabric of the leggings. He could see where her ribs jutted out, below that the flat plans of her trim stomach. Her breasts were just above, hanging tantalizingly before him, her red bra making her pale skin stand out. She looked lovely as ever, but he felt a wall forming between them. He couldn't trust her. He couldn't.

She took a step between towards him. He noticed her hand was trembling. She lifted it to his cheek, just letting the lightest tips of the pads of her fingers touch him. As he if he might break, might disappear.

"Do you truly, after everything, doubt that I have feelings for you?" Mary asked.

A tear had managed to trickle out of her eye.

"I don't know what to believe," Matthew said, "I can't read those e-mails, hear that report, and be able to believe you."

"But I don't understand," Mary said, the tears beginning to flow freely down her cheeks, "Nothing has changed."

He steeled himself, trying to not let her display affect him, as he choked out, "Everything's changed."

It was so hard because he had believed in their relationship so fiercely. Now it all felt paper-thin. It felt tarnished. Matthew realized that there were tears in his eyes too.

"So I've ruined everything," Mary said softly.

"You've showed me I've been living a dream," He said, "And it's time to return to real life."

There was a knock on the door. Mary shoved the jumper over her head.

"Excuse me, Mr. and Ms. Crawley," A voice said, the statement making both of them jump and stare at each other, "I'm just letting you know that Robert Crawley CEO has just landed on the helipad. He'll be with you momentarily."

 _Robert Crawley._ The Robert Crawley. After all of it, he was going to finally meet him- now, just as everything fell apart.

He glanced at Mary, but her gaze was far off, as if she was piecing things together. Then a second later, she was shoving things into her bag: Her phone, wallet, and a few other things. She looked up at Matthew one last time, sniffled, then sprinted into hallway without another word.

"Tell them to hold the heli," he heard her shout down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this last scene has been in my head since this fic idea appeared in my head. There was something about the fake dating trope (and the way those plots tend to blow up) that had me instantly envisioning a version of their Season 1 Finale fight. While I adore Matthew, he has this temper and ability to over react that we only get glimpses of throughout the series, but when we do- it's quite painful.


	18. Chapter 18: Phase Eighteen- Encounter The Unexpected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi pals! Hope you all had a wonderful holiday season. I'm back in the states for the next week and finally getting a breather (when I'm not catching up old friends), so it seems like a great time to update. Thank you to all who read/reviewed A Cup of Cheer. It was fun to take a little break from this to write something different.

Chapter 18: Phase Eighteen- Encounter the Unexpected

 

Mary realized that with rain drenched hair, comfortable clothing, and no make up- she was virtually unrecognizable. Which, given the situation and headlines, was certainly an asset.

It had been a help when her helicopter had landed in York. She'd been unnoticed as she sipped a cappuccino at an artsy café, as she tried to figure out the address of where she needed to go. The warm drink helped make up for the horrible, first blustery storm of the autumn that had blown in. She sorted through old texts and sent Sybil a few more, till she figured out where she needed to go.

"Have you heard about the Crawley's?" Asked a person at the table over to their coffee date.

"Which one?" Laughed their partner in response.

Mary cringed. She needed to get out of a public place before her hair dried and she looked more recognizable. Turning back to her phone, she searched online for cabs in York. She dialed the highest reviewed one listed.

"We usually don't drive that far into the countryside, miss," The cab driver said when she read him the address.

"Please, sir, I'll pay you triple," She told him.

"Alright then, where shall I pick you up?"

* * *

 

Everything was numb for Matthew. He fumbled to his suitcase to pull out a t-shirt, sinking down on the bed.

He didn't want to think. He didn't want to let it sink in that it was all over. Mary, who had brought so much joy to his life, was gone. She had helped him learn to cope with his fears. She had comforted him through the hardest moments. She had given the energy to make real differences.

But now it was all gone.

It was all a lie.

I had all been a lie.

He would have to get back to New York as soon as possible. He needed to be gone from this house. He didn't want to deal with this here, with the press lurking outside. He didn't want to deal with it as he felt vulnerable and shaky and like there was nothing, nothing in the world he could trust.

Still unfeeling, he moved to finish dressing, finding a crumpled pair of jeans in the bottom of his suitcase. He pulled them on before beginning to pack up all his things. He threw it all in haphazardly into his suitcase. Mary's things lay scattered around the room. Like the things left behind when someone leaves before a disaster. Like things left behind after someone dies.

She was a ghost here.

That was the hardest part of it all. He didn't want it all to be true. He didn't want to have gotten angry at Mary. He didn't want it all to fall apart. But he couldn't trust her. He'd seen the e-mails. She admitted them were true. She could have been putting on a farce the whole time. She might be just be a very good and thorough actress.

He didn't know what to do with the things she left behind, so he left them scattered there. Daisy was still here, hoping happily around the corner, oblivious to the heartbreak. He'd have to remember to text Sybil to take care of her. Regardless of his feelings about Mary, he didn't want the sweet little bunny to suffer.

He paused to brush his teeth and hair, before tossing those also into his suitcase. He left his room key on the dresser, determined to not come back.

If Mary could take off on a helicopter, he too could get out of dodge.

He turned into the hallway, thinking how he wasn't unlike Larry, barreling down the hallways the day before. But it was the opposite- Larry had been using Sybil, Mary had been using Matthew. He couldn't believe he had let himself get so tied up in the Crawley's twisted world.

In the same way that he had nearly collided with Larry the day before, he found himself running headlong into Sybil.

She tumbled back with a huff, clearly not expecting Matthew to be careening down the corridor. She was still in her pajamas.

"Matthew," Sybil said, "I'm so glad I found you! I think Mary's run off somewhere. Do you know where she's gone?"

Sybil thought he was looking for Mary? That was so absurd. Didn't Sybil understand what had happened? Didn't she understand that the lie was out?

"No, I don't know where Mary is," He said, not hiding the belligerence in his voice.

Sybil looked flustered, not even picking up Matthew's temper.

"Drat, shall we go look for her then? I don't want her going through this alone," Sybil said, worried.

Matthew gritted his teeth. Had she not noticed that this scandal had exploded Matthew's word? Didn't she understand that there was no way they could be on the same team? Not now, not when Mary had used him. Not when the whole family had lied to him. Not when they all had used him for their social gain, leaving his heart to be broken easily.

It made so much sense that his heart would be broken today. It was just like the contract said- four months, till Sybil's wedding, then it was all over. It was all over.

"No, I won't go look for Mary," Matthew grunted.

Sybil looked up from where she was glancing down the hall.

"Why ever not?" Sybil asked, "I'm sure she needs us right now."

He felt the same rage that he'd felt earlier boil to a head.

"Why the hell would I help you- the family that has manipulated me and used to me- look for your sister who spent four months lying to me?" He near shouted at her. "I am just trying to get out of here before I have to see another one of you again."

"Matthew, calm down and have some sense," Sybil snapped back. "You can't possibly think that."

"Are you trying to tell me that my feelings aren't valid? Because I assure you, I could not possibly feel more angry at you all," Matthew spat, "Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to leave this fucking castle before I do anything I would regret."

He pushed passed Sybil and continued down the hall. Just around the corner and down the stairs and to the door. That was all he needed to do to be free.

"Hold up there," Sybil said, grabbing at his arm. "What the hell is going on?"

"What is going on?" He asked, "Is that I have been lied to. I am upset. And I am leaving all of you fucking Crawley's behind and hopefully never see you again."

"Do you honestly not believe that Mary loves you?" Sybil asked, her voice full of confusion.

"Did you read the e-mails? Did you see the reports?" He asked, his anger now replaced with evident hurt, "Sybil, she never loved me."

Sybil raised her hand, and for a moment, Matthew thought she might be comforting him. Then she slapped him soundly across the face.

He winced, pain radiating across his skin.

"What was that for?" Matthew asked.

"To knock some sense into you," Sybil said, "Now, let's get you some ice while you re-evaluate your life decisions."

"I don't need to re-evalutate anything," He snapped.

"Hell yes, you do," Sybil said, dragging his arm "Now come on, off we go."

* * *

 

Mary was nearly asleep when the taxi slowed. She had been lulled by the countryside flickering by, the soft rain battering the window, and the fact that she was still recovering from an illness that made her exhausted.

"Excuse me, miss," The driver said, "But we've arrived."

Mary saw a series of three stone cottages. They were adorable, each with bright, yellow flowers displayed from the windowsills. Marigolds, Mary believed they were called. Even rain soaked, it was a cheerful place.

"Are you sure they were expecting you, miss? It looks like no one is home," The voice replied.

It was true. Charming as this tiny trove of cottages were, there was no one in sight. No car was parked beside them. The curtains were pulled. Maybe no one was here.

The address had only been a guess after all. And she hadn't called ahead. She knew that she would have been refused if she had.

But this was her only hope.

"No, it's fine," She said, "It's an old friend. They'll be right home."

"Right then," the driver said, before giving her the sum. Mary pulled out her card and as promised, paid three times over.

"Will you be needing a ride back?" He asked, extending an business card.

"I don't imagine so," Mary said, taking his business card regardless, "But I'll ring if I do. Thanks."

She got out of the car and began to make her way to the cottage. The driver drove off into the fog, the sound of the tires against wet pavement the last sound her heard before things sunk into silence.

She walked up to the door and knocked. Her heart clenched for a second, anticipating an opening, but there was nothing. The driver had been right, there was no one home.

She knocked again, but she knew that it was for naught. She peaked into a window, there the curtains were open a sliver- seeing a fireplace, soft armchairs, and paintings on the wall. There were cups of tea sitting on side tables and a book lying open. The house was lived in. That was for sure.

Feeling reassured that someone must be coming home soon, she let herself sink onto the stoop. It was wet, but she was surely going to be drenched anyway. There was something cathartic and refreshing about letting the rain thoroughly soak you.

Realizing that she was totally alone, at least for this moment, she let herself give into the emotion that had been threatening her for a while. It arose in huge, gulping sobs.

Matthew didn't believe in her love. He believed Richard Carlisle over her.

And now he was going to leave her. He could hardly look at her. He couldn't trust her.

The man that had guided her to believe that she could finally love again. The man that had made her strong in her weak places, the ones that other men had left broken and unwanted. The man that inspired her to change her entire life, because of the goodness of his heart and his beautiful vision for the world. The man that had allowed her to open her heart again.

He was gone. He didn't trust her or believe her or love her. It was all over.

Mary wondered maybe if the rain sunk in, she would freeze from head to toe, freeze her heart over, till she couldn't feel anymore. That would be easier. It was much easier to be cold, to be frozen- than to be in vulnerable and left to the elements. She had made that mistake with Matthew. She shouldn't have made that mistake with Matthew.

She felt the cold seep in, through her jumper, through her leggings. She felt her underwear soak through. Her bra was sticking to her. Inside her shoes were small puddles. She was happy she'd left Daisy behind, the weather would be dangerous for the small rabbit. A gust of cold air rushed through the yard and sent a chill whirling through her bones. She pulled her knees to her chest, content to suffer in the cold. Maybe if she was truly soaked, she'd finally stop feeling the pain that was vying to wrench her open.

She tugged her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her knees, trying to hold herself together. The sobs were still wracking her body.

This wasn't like with Pamuk. He had hurt her, embarrassed her. But she had never truly cared for him. She'd been intrigued by him, attracted to him, sure. But she hadn't ever developed feelings for him.

This wasn't like Tony either. He'd been a holiday fling. While she wanted to believe it was love at the time, Mary knew now it was paper thin, strung together by lies. It was real. While it broke her heart, it wasn't like this.

Mary couldn't imagine a time she'd ever felt worse.

As time passed, her hands began shake, then go numb. Her feet followed not much later. She felt her joints stiffen, pain forming at her hips and knees- exhausted from holding herself together. She kept telling herself that in just a little more time in this rain, in front of this empty cottage, she'd be finally numb through and through. She'd finally stop feeling so terribly broken.

When Mary had surmised that two hours had passed, she began to realize that she must be resigned that no one was coming back soon- or at least that she would have severe hypothermia before anyone did turn up at this godforsaken cottage. She began to accept that her hiding place might not have been the greatest idea ever. She decided she'd have to head back to York. Maybe she could find a non-descript hotel there and wait out the scandal. Then what? God back to Paris and carry on? Surely her plans with Matthew would be ruined. Would they be able to act civilly enough to finish the project? She couldn't leave the artists in Bujumbura without what she promised them.

She fished her phone out of her pocket. Whatever her future held, it wasn't in this cottage in the middle of nowhere. She found a card in her purse for the cab company. One glance at her and the cab driver would probably think she was the stupidest person ever. She probably was.

She pressed her phone on and as expected, it was full of missed calls, texts, and other notifications. Her eye was caught by an e-mail that she hadn't expect to see today.

 **From:** Kings College School of Global Affairs

 **Subject:** Admissions Decision

Without hesitation, she slid the e-mail open.

_Dear Ms Crawley,_

_We are please to inform you of your acceptance into the Master of Science in Emerging Economies and International Development at the International Development Institute house in King's College School of Global Affairs for upcoming term….._

She'd done it. The plan that she'd formed when she returned from Burundi, when she felt her heart tugging her towards learning more about how to work with vulnerable people and countries, when she realized it was the perfect marriage of her world and Matthew's. The interview she'd done secretly in London, just before she'd run into Matthew in Somerset house- It'd been a success.

She had imagined how happy Matthew would be when he saw he heard about her acceptance. She had guarded the secret over the past few weeks because she knew he would be so enthusiastic, that she didn't want to disappoint him if she wasn't accepted. Despite her good grades in undergrad and her well-written essays, she knew that there were a lot of reasons to not accept a Crawley into a program. But she'd done it. She's done it and now Matthew wouldn't be there to know or care. Maybe someone would write an article about her, complete with covert pictures of her at graduate school, and he'd know. Maybe then he'd come back to her, trust her again- No. She couldn't afford to think so hopefully.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she hardly heard the car drive towards the house and into the drive. At first she thought she'd called the cab unthinkingly, but then she looked up to see a large navy car she'd never seen before.

Mary blinked up in surprise.

A door flung open and a little girl traipsed out making for the door.

"Marigold," Called her sister's voice from the drivers seat, "Wait for me. When we get inside, go wash up right away and we can start working on the cookie recipe before your nap."

Mary watched as the small girl trotted over to the door. Mary couldn't figure out who she was exactly. Was Edith a nanny on the side?

She watched her sister climb out of the car, her golden hair hitting her shoulders, dressed in a wooly sweater and scarf. It was like no time had passed since they'd seen each other. Christmas right? Or was it was Christmas of last year? She hoped that she wouldn't be too upset to see her. She was distracted with her phone, not looking up at first. Mary was grateful for that. She all of a sudden felt like she was intruding. It had been selfish to think she could hide at her sister's, especially if she showed up without warning.

The little girl, Marigold, apparently, ran right up to Mary before shouting, "Mama! Someone is here!"

She watched as Edith looked up, her jaw dropping a little at Mary's bedraggled appearance (or maybe just the fact that Mary herself was there). She looked between Mary and the small girl.

"You're Auntie Mary, aren't you?" Marigold asked, "I've seen you on TV before."

_Auntie Mary?_

All of a sudden Mary knew exactly who this girl was.

Niece. She had a niece. She'd been an aunt all this while and she hadn't even known.

* * *

 

"Honestly, I'm not even sure you deserve this ice," Sybil said, disparagingly as she passed Matthew the small bag, wrapped in a towel.

"What am I supposed to think when I see e-mail evidence splashed across the news that my entire relationship with the woman I thought was the love of my life as been a sham?" Matthew shot, snapping the ice up from her hands. "Why are you so easy to dismiss this as merely fake celebrity gossip? I, for one, am having such a hard time differentiating between what is supposed fake and real."

"Ugh," Sybil groaned, sitting across from him on a sofa in the lobby, "For an Oxford educated man with a law degree from Columbia- you'd think that you wouldn't be so dim."

"For someone who has always had the greatest things in my life taken from me," Matthew said, a rare bit of menace in his voice, "Forgive me if I'm a little skeptical."

Sybil rolled her eyes, unable to deal with Man-Child behavior.

"You clearly don't understand why I'm angry, so let me be very explicit," His voice was razor sharp now. Sybil hadn't thought that gentle Matthew would be capable of anger like this, "I entered into the fake relationship with Mary knowing that it was fake, but I quickly started to have feelings for her and it seemed that she had feelings for me. So when we finally, finally agreed to give our feeling a chance, that morning in Cannes- I thought we were both being real with each other. But these e-mails, they throw all of that into suspicion. Those e-mails were sent during the time we were supposedly developing feelings for each other. They said things like 'Make him fall in love with you.' Don't you see? She's just been manipulating my feelings so that it would look like we are in love, so I'd have genuine feelings for her that would look good on magazine covers. But her feelings have just been an act, an order from Robert Crawley CEO. She's been lying the whole time. I'm just another Crawley pawn."

Sybil leaned forward, forcing him to make eye contact with her, "Listen to me very carefully. I'm closer with Mary than anyone else is, apart from maybe Anna. I know my sister. I saw her go through all of it- Carlisle, Pamuk, Tony- all of that crap. What she had with any other man is nothing like what she's had with you. She loves you."

"How do you know?" He challenged.

"Because she told me. She called me right after Cannes and told me that you both admitted to having feelings for each other," Sybil explained.

"So?" Matthew said, "One of the e-mails was sent the same morning we started formally dating in Cannes. It could have just been part of a plan to make me fall for her. Maybe she was just saying that to you to make it sound like we were in love. Maybe she knew that you'd believe her. Maybe she just wanted-"

Then his voice broke, the raw emotion leaking through.

It clicked for Sybil. Matthew wasn't angry, as much as he was painfully heartbroken.

She got up from the couch to sit beside Matthew. She wrapped her arm around him. Up close, she could see unshed tears in his eyes.

"Matthew," She said, "Listen. I know my sister. I know Mary. She loves you. She really loves you."

"But, I saw the," He tried to begin, his voice catching again, muttering the same nonsense he'd been blubbering on with, "I saw the e-mails. 'Make him fall in love with you.' She was tricking me. You were all using me."

"That's not true," Sybil said, keeping her voice level and sensible, "We all quite like you. We are all happy to have you as part of our family. Mary was glad to have you part of her family."

There were footsteps approaching. Sybil stiffened, hoping it was her father. They weren't ready to deal with that yet.

Anna slowly entered the lobby.

"There you are," Anna said, "Do you know where Mary is? I thought I should check on her."

Sybil shook her head. "No, sorry, I've been too busy dealing with this situation."

She gestured at Matthew.

"Matthew?" Anna asked, joining them on the sofa, "Whatever is wrong?"

"He's believed the story Carlisle spun, the e-mails, the stupid rumors," Sybil filled her in.

"You don't believe that Mary loves you?" Anna asked.

Matthew shook his head slowly. Sybil could tell he was trying to hold it together.

"Oh you silly man," Anna laughed, "I've never seen that woman so enamored as she is with you. And she hasn't been faking it. I've seen Mary fake things before. I've seen her go on dates that she doesn't really care about. That's nothing like how she is with you."

"Really?" Matthew asked, looking up.

"Surely," Anna said, "And if you don't believe me, just look through all the texts she's sent me on my phone."

She passed him the phone, but his hand was shaking too badly to look through it properly.

"I'm sure Sybil's said this," Anna continued, "But we've never seen Mary like she was with you. She's always careful, cold. She's guarded. But with you, she was so radiant. She was so excited."

Matthew gulped.

"You see," He said, "It's easier not believe you. It's easier to just turn around and leave for New York and not look back. It's easier because if I do that- I don't have to live with the fact that I think I just ruined everything. I lost Lavinia. I can't lose Mary."

"Oh no," Sybil said, "You owe it to Mary to fix this. You don't get off easy here. Trust us, we'll help you. You don't get to ruin everything."

* * *

 

"Mary?" Edith asked.

Mary looked between her sister and her niece, trying to find the words to explain herself, but they were caught in her throat. She was an aunt.

Her sister had a child, a nearly school-aged child, and she hadn't even known. Who knew about this little girl? Who was her father?

She thought of her own sister raising a child in the middle of nowhere. She thought of her changing nappies, fixing bottles, staying up late nights- all by herself. The family had missed birthdays and first steps and first days of school. In the time that Mary had been going to parties, doodling handbags, racking up scandals- her sister had been raising a child. How had this been allowed to happen?

Mary lifted her eyes to her sister, "I'm sorry for showing up here. I just needed to escape for a little bit. This seemed like a good hiding place. I can go. I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have just shown up-"

"Nonsense," Edith said, "You're family. We're family. We're not very good at this, but I like to think that sometimes we can take care of each other."

Mary nodded slowly, her eyes glassy.

"My name is Marigold," The small girl told her, "Just like the flowers."

Mary focused her attention on the small girl in front of her who was pointing a small finger towards the flowers blooming in the windowsill. She had strawberry blond curls, not unlike the one's Edith had had as a child. She had large blue eyes, inquisitive and innocent. She was dressed in a dress, a wool cardigan, and the most adorable child-sized wellies.

"And how old are you Marigold?" Mary asked.

"This many," Marigold said, showing her four fingers. "But nearly 5."

"Nearly 5," Mary said, "How very grown up!"

Marigold giggled and stood a little taller.

"I'm very glad to meet you, Marigold," Mary said, sincerely, lifting her eyes to meet Edith's.

"You must be very cold," Edith said, "And damp."

Mary realized that they'd all been frozen in place since they encountered each other. Mary stood up, her body stiff and shaking still from the cold.

"How long have you been out here?" Edith asked.

"Nearly two hours," Mary admitted.

"Two hours?" Edith said, walking up to door and digging her purse for keys, "Mary, you're going to be sick."

"I mean, I'm getting over mono, so it can't get much worse right?" Mary offered.

Edith pulled the key out of her bag and stuck it in the door, "So you actually were sick? I knew it. There was no way that you were pregnant. Believe me, our father wouldn't have let that stand."

Mary studied her sister, wondering if her father's hand was involved in the fact that she'd hardly seen her in the last five years.

"I'll explain later," Edith supplied, when she saw Mary trying to connect the dots, "After you've had a hot shower and soup." Then she looked at Marigold fondly and said, "And after this one has gone for a nap."

Mary followed Edith into the cottage. It had an open floor plan, the modern amenities showing that it had been extensively renovated from whatever rural cottage it had once been. There was a sophisticated kitchen with cream-colored cabinets and tiled walls. It gave way to a living area, where some large armchairs and a sofa were situated around a fireplace.

"This cottage was renovated just before I moved here," Edith explained, "Then I've redone one of them, the smallest, into a writing office for myself, so I have a place to write that's separate from the house. The third is for guests, not that I have any often. Sybil used to stay there when she'd visit- but she's been too busy with school to visit recently."

"Sybil knows about Marigold?' Mary asked, looking down at the small girl who had set off to play with a few dolls in the corner.

Mary felt stung that no one had bothered to tell her that her sister had a baby. Had no one thought that she would care? Had no one thought that she would want to know her niece?

"Forgive me for not telling you," Edith said, "We've never been to close. You know that. According to father, the secret needed to stay between as few people as possible. None of my friends from Princeton know. Or really anyone outside of our parents and Sybil."

Mary wanted to feel angry or upset. When they were girls, they had been rivals of sorts, always competing for their parents' attention. They were the type to steal each others' secrets for blackmail. They were never any sort of model of a loving sister relationship. Mary could understand why her sister wouldn't tell her a secret so big.

However, it made their rivalry seem petty. Why distance yourself from family who were struggling? Mary wanted to do better by Edith.

"Well," Mary said, finally, "Like you said, we're family. Even if we haven't in the passed, let's try to make a go at taking care of each other now."

Edith gave her a hesitant smile, before turning to Marigold, "Let me go fix Auntie Mary some things for a hot shower, then we can make those cookies before your nap?"

"Cookies for Aunt Mary?" Marigold asked, excitedly.

"I don't know," Edith said laughing softly, "Should we share with her?"

"Yes!" Marigold exclaimed.

Mary suppressed a giggle, as she followed Edith into the hallway and to what seemed to be Edith's bedroom. Her sister rummaged through her wardrobe and handed her a wooly jumper and a pair of leggings.

"They might not fit perfectly. I gained a bit of weight with the pregnancy and I've been able to get rid of it," Edith explained, "But they should be stretchy enough to work."

"No, it's brilliant," Mary said, "Anything warm is good for me."

"The shower is right in here," Edith said, directing her to the en-suite, "Use towels, soap, shampoo- whatever you like."

"Thank you," Mary said, already excited to not be shivering, "Truly, you're being more kind than I deserve."

"Nonsense," Edith said, "I think we Crawleys have a distorted concept of what we deserve."

Mary tried to hold that in her head, as she shut the door and the stripped away her wet clothes. She turned on the shower and cranked it up all the way. She stepped under its spray, feeling the scalding water push the chill out of her body. Her feet felt like pins and needles as the feeling came back into them. She tried not to think of that time, two weekends ago when she and Matthew had climbed into the shower together in his apartment in New York, complete with hot water and fierce passion.

As much as she wanted to use the discovery of Marigold and Edith's secret life as a distraction, the moment they disappeared she felt the pain of Matthew's rejecting tearing at her heart.

Rubbing shampoo into her hair, she tried to imagine where he was now. Maybe he was at the hotel, regretting the words that hurt her- but no. She couldn't let herself dare to hope that. He was probably back on the soonest flight to New York. He'd be back in his apartment in Murray Hill by this evening. Tomorrow he'd be dressing in suit, heading the UN, carrying on as if he had never touched her heart.

She remembered when she had been afraid that his reputation would be ruined if she spent too much time with him. She'd done that alright. His reputation would be a mess from now on. She wondered if he'd find love again. Maybe there would be a high profile interview with him that would propel him into being some sort of sweetheart cruelly tricked by Mary's wiles. Maybe he'd have loads of women chasing after him. With his crooked smiles and bright blue eyes, this wasn't hard to imagine.

As the last bit of shampoo slipped down the drain, Mary stood vulnerable under the water- the worst thoughts hitting her. He was only supposed to date her until Sybil's wedding. Now that the wedding was over, maybe it only made sense that he would be leaving now. Maybe he was leaving now because the deal was over. What if he was planning it all along? What if was using her all along? What if this scandal was just an easier way to deal with it than breaking up with her? It was always easier to blame someone else. What if he had never loved her at all?

* * *

 

"Well the hardest part is going to be getting you out of here," Sybil decided, "The place is surrounded with paps. They'll eat your alive. We need to sneak you out."

"Wait," Matthew said, still trying to keep up, "Where am I going?"

"Well, Mary texted me an hour ago asking for Edith's address," Sybil said, "I think she is trying to wait out the scandal at her place."

"Which is in Yorkshire?" Matthew asked.

"Exactly, like middle of nowhere Yorkshire," Sybil explained, "It's quiet far from here. She was clever to take the heli there."

"What can we do to get him out then?" Anna asked.

"We'll have to sneak you out somehow and put you on a train before anyone spots you," Sybil said.

"But how do we do that?" Anna asked.

"I could pose as a distraction?" Sybil suggested, "I could go out and say that I want to speak about the scandal with Larry."

"No, the press would have a field day with that," Matthew pointed out, "It's not worth it."

"What if we order pizza?" Anna suggested.

"What?" Sybil said, "We've got loads to do to figure this. And it's like 10AM."

"No, honestly," Anna said, "Stick with me on this. We order pizza. We tell them to use the back entrance. We pay him an absorbent amount, then stick Matthew in the trunk and he sneaks him out and to the train station. Even if he snitches, Matthew will be out town before the paps get word."

"Anna, that sounds like the plot of a teen movie," Sybil said, laughing.

"It might work," Matthew said, "And honestly, what do we have to lose."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This chapter got split into to 2 parts because it was SO long, so the action will continue into the next chapter.


	19. Chapter 19- Win Her Back

 

Chapter 19: Phase Nineteen- Win her Back

Mary emerged from the shower, dressed in sister's clothing, but feeling warm and less shaky. She navigated the corridor back to the main room.

"Auntie Mary," Marigold exclaimed, bounding up to her the moment she entered the room, "We made cookies!"

"Did you really?" Mary asked, as her niece tugged her to an armchair.

"We used the recipe that our cook used to use when we first moved to New York," Edith explained, as she brought Mary a cup of tea and a blanket. Mary smiled at tea, plain with a bit of milk, just like how she used to drink it as a girl, before her cappuccino obsession began. Regardless of their distant and frosty relationship, Edith _knew_ Mary.

"Here are the cookies," Marigold said, delivering her a plate of fresh chocolate chip cookies. They were indeed a childhood comfort. Mary remembered the excitement of eating them when they first moved to the States. They'd had cookies in London, but these were _American_ cookies. They had been new and exciting. Mary cherished that Edith still remembered it.

"Thank you so much, Marigold," Mary said, giving her niece a shaky, bent over hug.

"Good girl, now off to your nap," Edith told the little girl.

"Yes, Mummy," Marigold said, before trodding off.

"She goes like that?" Mary laughed, "I certainly hope that if I ever had children they are as well behaved as Marigold."

Edith blushed, "I'm really fortunate. She's has a gentle disposition. Her naps give me time to write in the afternoons. I have a local girl come to mind her in the mornings so I can write then too. She watches her when I have meetings and stuff with my agent. Or if I pop home for a holiday. That's why I'm not home often, I can't really be seen with Marigold and the Crawleys."

Mary gave her a rueful smile, "I'm so sorry. We're all at a loss for it. She seems so lovely. I'm sorry for all I've missed with her. I hope one day to make up for it."

"I'm glad you know now," Edith said, "And thank you for being so kind about it all."

"Don't thank me for being decent," Mary said, nibbling on a cookie, "You've been through so much without a family to help you. It's abhorrent. I don't envy you. And I don't blame you."

Edith gave her a melancholic look, before standing, "Would you like some soup? I put a bit on the stove for you."

"That would be lovely," Mary said, "I'm not sure I'll ever get the chill out of my bones."

"If you'd have called, I would have been home in time," Edith said, "We were just out at some shops."

"Would you have?" Mary said, "I'm not quite so sure."

Edith looked up from where she ladling soup, "That's probably true. I'm sorry. It's just that I'm supposed to keep this secret."

"But why?" Mary blurted.

Edith walked back with the bowl of soup in her hands, "Careful, it's warm. Let me grab you a spoon."

Mary nodded, as her sister walked back to the kitchen. There was a moment of silence between them.

Edith sighed, "I suppose it's time I told you everything."

She walked back to the living area, passing Mary a spoon and a napkin. She settled opposite from Mary on one of the armchairs near the fire.

"So I suppose it all started my final year at Princeton," Edith said. "I was selected to a creative writing thesis. You'd get to work on a project, mine was a novel, with a faculty member. I was paired with a young professor, a Michael Gregson, whom I'd never had as a teacher before. He was only 27, which is extraordinarily young for a professor. He was quite good looking, and very kind, but extremely talented. Have you read _The Criterion_? You know the novel about the posh restaurant in London and all the vignettes about the people who lived there?"

Mary wrinkled her forehead, before recalling a book she'd read the summer after she'd graduated from Cornell. She nodded. It had been quite good.

"Right well, he was my advisor," Edith explained, "And like any clever girl with a brilliant advisor, I was completely dazzled by him. We'd have these thesis meetings that were so engaging. He'd really take the time to read my work, but also respect it and my thoughts. He was great. Then these office hours turned into meetings at the coffee shop nearby, then they turned into lunch dates, then dinner dates. Three months into the semester, I found myself sleeping over at his apartment."

Mary couldn't stop her eyebrows from raising, her mouth opening to a little gasp.

"I'd never really done anything like that before," Edith explained, "I didn't have a lot of friends at the time. I was quite reserved in university. You were off living your life abroad. Sybil was this sweetheart at Barnard, getting all these glowing articles about her. I was in the perfect place to need somebody, and he was exactly the somebody I needed.

"I'm not saying this because I regret it," She qualified, "I don't. I still don't."

She took a shaky breath.

"By the time I went home for Christmas that year, I knew two things. One, that I was so in love with Professor Gregson. And two, that I was pregnant."

Mary swallowed and nodded. She wished she could have been there for sister. She imagined the fear and anxiety she went through as she tried to decide what to do.

"I didn't know what to do," Edith said, her voice was getting rough with that feeling that Mary knew well, from right before one is about to cry.

"I wish you had come to me," Mary said.

Edith frowned, "You know how things were between us then."

Mary nodded, she did. She felt the same feeling over and over. _Regret_. She regretted so much that her sister had been struggling through all of this alone because she was too busy, too distant, too petty to be trusted to help her bear the burden. Maybe the rumors were true, maybe she didn't have a heart.

"I spent all of Christmas break figuring out how to tell Michael about what happened. I rehearsed it over and over. So then when I went back for the new semester, I was ready to tell him everything and ask him to help me decide what to do next."

"When I went to his office my first week back, he was gone," Edith said, "I worried for the worst. I thought he'd taken off and left me, because I was pregnant and afraid of scandal. But he didn't even know I was pregnant, so that obviously wasn't it. I thought maybe he'd taken a longer holiday or switched universities without telling me. I was heartbroken.

"But that wasn't the worst of it. I wish it had been any of things," Edith continued, "I got a call a week later. His voice was wrecked. He didn't know how to explain it. He'd gone home for his Christmas holidays and found out that he'd been diagnosed with cancer. Not the sort that is easily curable, the sort that kills you very quickly and painfully. He wouldn't be returning to campus. He had three weeks left.

"So at that point, I didn't know what do," Edith said, "I went to Mother and explained it all to her- the affair, the pregnancy, the cancer. Then she went to father and it turned into this 'thing' like it always does with them. All they could think of was the scandals it could bring. I think they wanted to protect me from it, but I know that they also wanted to protect themselves, protect the family name.

"They forbade me from going to see Michael as he was dying. They said it would be too obvious, the press would follow. Mother came out to Princeton for the two weeks, fussing over 'the baby' but it was really to keep me from going to see Michael.

Edith heaved a sob, "It still kills me. Because I never got to say goodbye. I never got that closure."

Mary abandoned her tea and soup, and walked over to comfort her sister. She curled up next to her, squishing onto the arm chair and wrapped her in her arms.

"I'm so sorry," Mary said, "I'm so sorry you had to go through that. It's not unlike Matthew, you know. His fiancée died while he ill. He never got to say good-bye. I'm not sure he's going to talk to me again, but you could talk with him about it. I know it's been a really long road for him to get over something like that."

"It's okay," Edith said, "I've dealt with it now. I live in peace with what happened."

Mary nodded, but knew that wounds like that didn't heal lightly.

"But what happened after that?" Mary asked, "How did you end up here?"

"After Michael died, Father suggested that I end the pregnancy, save us from scandal. But it was the last thing that existed of Michael Gregson. He was a beloved author, a creator, and this was his last creation. I couldn't," Edith said, "I couldn't at all. I was quite pregnant when I graduated, but the papers were writing it off as weight gain. Father was still worried about scandal, so he didn't let me come home that summer. He thought it would be better if I became this sort of hermit. He bought this cottage and had it renovated for me a month before graduation, so I could move in right away. I was in too much pain and anxiety to stand up to him, to ask for something else. So I came here. I had a few literary agents who were starting to become interested in my work. I did all the business through e-mail or skype. I let most relationships grow distant. Sybil came that summer to be there for the birth."

"At first, Father really wanted me to give Marigold up for adoption, but I couldn't do that either," Edith said, "I remember the phone call, he ended saying, 'Fine! Live in that fucking cottage for all I care. You made your bed, now you've got to lie in it.'"

Mary's face wrinkled in pain, as she squeezed her sister tighter, "It's not fair. What our father does isn't fair. He can't go around dictating our lives. He can't decide our lives. We've got to make our own mistakes and scandals. And if we fuck up our family brand name, well then screw it. It isn't worth it. It isn't worth living a life of loneliness, forced to live in some countryside cottage in Yorkshire. Or having someone being paid to date you. It's insane."

"So, the rumors are true then?" Edith asked, "You were faking it the whole time?"

* * *

"Are we really doing this?" Anna asked, as she took her mobile back from Matthew.

"I do have to admit this plan is completely insane," Sybil concurred.

The two girls looked at Matthew. His bit his lip and then-

"I just can't stop thinking about Mary. How she is out there, well likely at Edith's, thinking over and over in her mind that I don't love her, that I don't trust her?" Matthew said, "And I can't stand it. I'm afraid if I don't chase after her now, I'll never get her back. I can't stand the thought of staying here while she's suffering, while I'm suffering. I can't stand the thought of going back to New York in my suit, sitting through UN meetings, and spending the rest of my life wondering what would happen if I hadn't been such a cad. What would have happened if I hadn't chased after Mary Crawley."

"That's quite the declaration, I suppose we must go through with this ridiculous plan," Sybil pipped up.

"Oh good, I was hoping we'd really do this, if only because I have a soft spot for teen dramas," Anna agreed, laughing, "I've googled it and there is a pizza delivery place in the area called Little Tony's. It's the only one in the area. Shall we try them?"

She pressed call and there was a moment of silence where they all waited to see if they would pick up. Sybil stifled a bubble of nervous laughter, as they all wondered if this crazy plan would actually happen.

"Hello, Little Tony's Pizza. This is Greg, how can I help you?" The voice rang from the phone, loud enough for the three of them to all hear. Sybil and Matthew bent in closer to the phone.

"Hi, yes, I was wondering if I could have, um, 2 medium pizza's delivered," Anna said.

"Great. What toppings would you like?" Greg asked.

Anna turned to Sybil, "What do you want?"

"Veggie," She replied.

"One veggie, and one with pepperoni," Anna told the man.

"What about me?" Matthew asked.

"You'll be hiding in the boot of the car, remember?" Hissed Sybil, "No pizza for you. It's your punishment for being rude to Mary."

They all suppressed a giggle at that comment.

"What address?" Greg asked.

"You know that hotel castle thing?" Anna asked, "Yes, there. But you'll have to come to back entrance because the front is surrounded by reporters."

"What? Who is this?" Greg asked.

"Not telling," Anna snapped, "Just bring us pizza, please."

"Your total is 23 pounds," The man said, "See you in around twenty minutes."

* * *

Then it was Mary's turn to let out a sob, "I wish. If it were all true, then I wouldn't be quite as miserable as I am now."

"I knew you couldn't be faking it," Edith remarked, "You looked far too happy in those pictures. It had to be the real thing."

Mary smiled at her sister was hugging her back, stroking her hair as tears trickled. She knew her well.

"Don't mind me being miserable," Mary said. She wanted to get back to Edith's story, so that it would distract her from the ragged pain in her heart when she thought of Matthew, "How are you now? Have you found friends, or love, or is it just you and Marigold?"

"Just me and Marigold for the most part," Edith explained, "We picked up a few friends overtime- the old lady who runs the bakery in town, the girl who works at the toy shop, just acquaintances really. But well, here's the thing. I've been doing most of my publication business over e-mail and skype, but I pop down to London every so often if it has to be done in person. So, over the last year or two, since I've been working on _The Marchioness_ , I've been using a Bertie Pelham as my agent. And well, we're in love. Really in love."

Mary's lips popped into a little "o."

"But he doesn't know about Marigold," Edith explained, "Whenever he comes here, I have her minded. Whenever I visit London, she isn't there. I can't tell him. So, I'm not sure how much farther this can go."

"Oh Edith," Mary sighed.

The emotions were painted across Edith's face- the thrill of falling in love, the disappointment of having to keep this secret, the fear of it destroying her relationship.

"Why are we doing this then?" Mary said. "Just stop caring about Robert Crawley CEO and his silly secrets. Tell Bertie about Marigold. Tell your friends. Tell the papers for all I care. Stop letting these silly family rules stop you from living your life."

"Do you really think I should?" Edith said, "What if it ruins my book launch? What if Bertie rejects me? There are too many variables."

"Edith, you will literally always miss out if you hide yourself out here," Mary said, "And love is always worth following your dreams for."

* * *

"So, wait," Greg said, "You want me to stow Matthew Crawley in the boot of my car?"

"Um, yes," Anna responded.

"Are you serious?" Greg said, "This is fantastic. So, the news wasn't true? She wasn't lying to you the whole time?"

"No, she wasn't," Matthew said, "She loves me. I, uh, didn't respond the right way to the rumors and I was very unkind to her. I need to put it right."

"So, if I help you, I'll be helping to reunite a famous couple?" Greg said.

"Indeed," Sybil cooed, "Won't you feel so important? Plus we'll pay you 200 quid."

"Wow," He said, "Of course. Wait- actually- um, could you send out like a thank you tweet to me after you are successful? I need more followers."

Matthew laughed, "Sure. Anything. Let's just hurry, shall we?"

"Right," Anna said, opening the trunk, "Into the boot with you!"

Matthew eyed the small back portion of the car dubiously, wondering how a fully grown man would fit in. He began to crawl in, twisting and folding himself so that he could fit into the small area. Lying flat on his stomach, he just fit, abet for his foot sticking up into the small window in the back.

"No one will notice his foot sticking up, will they?" Sybil said.

"Probably not," Anna agreed, "It's the best we can do, so we might as well try it."

"Here's the cash, Greg," Sybil said, "Thanks for the pizza."

* * *

"Mary," Edith said, "Look at this."

Mary had been sitting curled up in the armchair, her eyes blinking on the verge of sleep, exhausted from the tiring, emotional day. Just like Marigold, she thought, she was ready for naptime.

"What is it?" Mary asked.

Edith passed Mary her phone, where an article was pulled up.

**Breaking Gossip News: Matthew Crawley Caught Escaping Hotel After Crawley Family Erupts in Scandal. You'll Never Believe How He Did It!**

_Matthew Crawley, former boyfriend of Mary Crawley, who it was revealed this morning to have been paid off to date Mary. Even crueler, it appears that Mary was playing Matthew all along- letting him believe that she loved him, when really it was all a lie. This scandal comes on the heels of Sybil Crawley's disastrous failed wedding to American Congressman Larry Grey._

_Early this afternoon, Matthew Crawley was caught leaving the hotel of the aforementioned wedding. He was escaping by hiding in the boot of a pizza delivery truck. He was only caught escaping because his foot was sticking up through the window (see photo below)._

_So what is the reason behind Matthew's secret departure? Is he trying to escape the Crawley family that has ruined his life? Or is he seeking out vengeance on them? Or, even craziest, maybe he is trying to find Mary Crawley who reportedly left the hotel earlier this morning on the family helicopter to go into hiding?_

"This doesn't mean he's looking for me," Mary said, "He's probably trying to sneak back to New York with what little dignity we all have left."

"Or he realized that he's an idiot," Edith suggested.

"Even if he is looking for me, it might not be good," Mary said, passing her sister back the phone and pulling her blanket tighter around herself, "He was so hurt before. Nothing I could say was helping. If he is still that wounded, he won't be coming here to kiss and make up."

"Are you sure?" Edith said, "I saw the pictures of you. I saw the tweets and instagrams and tabloid articles. The look in both of your eyes- what you had was real. And real love, even if lost in a world of lies and scandals, it doesn't just go away."

"When did my little sister become so wise?" Mary mused, "But you should really take your own advice. It'll be the same with Bertie you know. If he really loves you, it'll last."

Edith bit her lip, "I suppose we'll see. I'm off to go write for a bit. Why don't you rest a bit? You look really tired. I'll wake you up when I start making dinner."

Mary wanted to object, but it was raining outside and she really was very quite tired. She wrapped the blanket and tugged it around her shoulders, settling into the softness of Edith's armchair and the gentle lull of the promise of rest.

* * *

It was hours later when Mary awoke to the sound of someone rapping at the door. She blinked opened her eyes to see the sun hanging low in the sky, the rain reduced to the laziest of drizzles. For a moment, she only felt the soft warmth of her armchair cocoon and the safe feeling of being with family.

"Mary, wake up," Edith said, "It's him."

Then it all came rushing back to her- the scandals, the pain in Matthew's eyes, her escape from the hotel in the rain, Edith's story, and the article they found on her phone.

Mary shot up from her chair, letting her blanket fall, looking at the door.

"He's here," Edith repeated, "Matthew. You should be the one to open the door, if you want to."

Mary wrapped her arms around herself, confused and half asleep, but also panicking and feeling as if everything was falling apart.

"I guess I can't leave him out there," She mumbled, reaching for the knob.

She pulled it open and there he was. He was dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, which seemed a little too cold for bizarrely cold August day- even if the rain was letting up. There were drops clinging to his hair. His eyes looked as bright as ever.

She didn't know how to react to him there. She wanted to punch him. He hurt her. He didn't trust her, didn't trust her love for him. She wanted him to know how much his anger at her had destroyed her.

But she wanted to kiss him. She had thought she'd never see him again and there he was on Edith's porch. She wanted to feel his arms around her, his lips on hers. She wanted him to repeat time after time that he was never ever leaving her again.

She wanted to soothe the pain that haunted her from the last time she saw it in his eyes. She wanted to hold him close and run her hands through his hair and promise him that she has always, always loved him.

But instead, she couldn't bring herself to say anything. Instead, she felt tears pierce her eyes, her hands begin to shake again, her whole body begin to freeze up.

"Mary," He hushed.

He stepped forward and took her shaking fingers in his own. She was startled by physical contact, startled to feel his hands on hers. Had it really been just that morning that she'd said goodbye to him?

A lump settled in her throat, stopping her from being able to respond.

"Mary," He said again, lifting her hand to his mouth to brush a kiss onto them.

Her lip started quaking and she knew that she was just a moment away from full on sobbing.

"Oh my darling," He said, dropping her hands and moving to hug her, before pausing and asking, "Mary, is it alright to hug you? I don't want to startle you, if you aren't ready for it, but I just very much want to feel you with me right now."

She nodded, grateful that he always asked permission to touch her, and let his arms envelope her in his embrace. Her own arms wrapped around his neck. She let her sobs come out into his shoulder. He held her body tight, absorbing the shuttering of her shoulders. She felt his hands rub up and down her back.

"Mary, I'm so sorry," He said and she could hear that he was trying hard to hold back tears as well.

She sniffled and tightened her arms around his neck.

"I'm sorry too," She sobbed out, "For whatever I did that made you doubt my love for you."

"No, no, no," He said, "It wasn't anything you did. It was my own stupidity. Mary, I was so stupid. I'm sorry."

His words hit her like a drop of warmth, melting in her heart, then pushing through her veins in the most healing of ways. It wouldn't fix it all, she knew they had plenty to talk through, but it made her feel as if she wasn't breaking apart anymore.

All of a sudden, she felt a tug on her pant leg and looked down to see Marigold.

"Auntie Mary," She said, "Who's this?"

Mary laughed, as she watched Matthew look down at the small girl. Mary reached down and lifted the small girl into her arms.

"This is Matthew," Mary said, holding the girl up so that she could shake Matthew's hand face to face.

"And who might you be?" Matthew asked.

"My niece," Mary said, "Marigold."

"What a pleasure you meet you, Miss Marigold," Matthew said, giving Marigold's hand a squeeze.

"You too," She squeaked before Mary carefully lowered her to the ground.

"And this is my sister Edith," Mary said, turning to sister, remembering that she had been watching during their tearful reunion, "I don't know if you've met at all."

Edith moved over from where she was standing in the kitchen.

"I don't know if I've forgiven you yet for my making my sister cry," Edith said, "But I suspect you're here to repair that, so I suppose I'll shake your hand anyway."

Matthew chucked, taking Edith's hand.

"I wish I was meeting you looking less like a fool than I do now," Matthew said, "You are right. I am here to repair things."

"Well, I'm about to start working on things for dinner," Edith said, "And the rain is abating, so maybe you and Mary should take a walk and talk it out. Then you'll be back in time for a spot of supper. What is it our cook used to say? Nothing makes you more hungry or more tired than grief."

"She did, didn't she?" Mary laughed, wiping at the stray tears that were lingering in her eyes. "We should talk."

Matthew nodded solemnly, "Yes, let's go on a walk now- then when we come back I can have _the_ Edith Crawley autograph my mother's book."

Edith rolled her eyes, "Don't even think about asking for an early copy of _The Marchioness_."

"I wouldn't dare it," Matthew said.

Mary found a pair of Edith's wellies by the door and pulled them. She didn't know how her sister did it. Mary wasn't much suited for country life, for mud and fields and animals. However, Mary could admit, as she took Matthew's hand and an umbrella and walked outside, that there was a different kind of beauty to the countryside. The mist hanging over the fields, the pink and pastel orange hues of the sunset, the sharp green of the grass- it was beautiful.

"It's nice, isn't it?" Mary asked.

"It really is," Matthew commented, "Edith's lucky to live in such a beautiful place."

"She didn't choose this," Mary said, not knowing how she would ever begin to explain Edith's haunting story with Matthew, "My father bought her these cottages and forced to her to hide out here as a hermit."

"Because of Marigold?" Matthew said, putting it together.

Mary nodded with a gulp, "That among a few other factors."

"It seems that your father likes to have control over your lives, your reputation," Matthew asserted.

"That's quite true," Mary said, "I've told Edith she should just stop caring, come out of hiding, tell the world about Marigold."

"I think you all should stand up to your father," Matthew said, "You Crawley women are too strong willed to not live the lives you want."

Mary laughed and then was silent for a moment. They turned into a path that led into a forested trail. She knew that needed to talk about it. They really needed to talk about what happened.

She let out a breath slowly, "I can't tell you that the e-mails didn't exist. He did send me those things. And to be honest, that second first date- the one in Central Park- I _was_ trying to follow his rules. I was trying to make you fall in love me. But by the time I was waiting for you outside Hamilton, I knew it was all for not. I knew that I had feelings for you. It didn't matter what my father wanted, or what I wanted, or anything- because I was falling for you. And I tried to push you away, because I was so afraid of having feelings for you. You know this, we talked about this- it's not always easy for cold and careful Mary Crawley to be vulnerable. But loving you, it made me vulnerable. Enough that today, today," She stopped, her voice caught in her throat, "Today broke my heart."

Matthew stopped walking to face Mary, taking both her hands in his, and squeezing them.

"I just don't understand why you didn't tell me," Matthew said, "You could have told me at any time about the e-mails. Why would you keep them secret?"

Mary shrugged, still sniffling through tears, "I didn't think it mattered. They didn't mean anything to me. I was sure of my feelings. I didn't need to mention them because they didn't matter to me."

Mary lifted her hands slowly to cup his face.

"I wish I could make them never exist, but I can't. I wish I could give you some physical proof that I love you, that I've always loved you. But love is funny like that, invisible." There was a trace of a smile on Mary's tear stained face, "You have to have faith. That's the only thing you can do. You have to believe that I love you. You have to do it blindly. That's what love is- it's taking the risk anyway."

He pulled her into his arms. The heat of his arms warmed her, still chilly in the cold, damp air. He felt like safety and comfort, like he should. "Of course, I believe you, Mary. Of course, I know you love me. Of course, I still love you. I'm sorry. I'm really truly sorry."

She pulled back to look at him, letting her hands slip from his neck to rest lightly on his forearms. She needed to speak seriously with him.

"If you're in this for the long haul," Mary said, "Which I truly hope you are, you'll have to know that this won't be the end of it. There will always be scandals and you'll probably be dragged into them. Your name will be tabloid covers and gossip websites and tweets and facebook status. Some of them will be true, a lot will be pure lies. Will you be by my side through it all? I need to know this, Matthew. It's fine if you can't," the sniffle that escaped showed that clearly it wasn't, "It's fine if you can't say that, if you can't commit, but you have to decide now. Because I can't go through this every time Richard Carlisle or Larry Grey or whoever else comes out with a dirty story on me. Are you able to promise that?"

There was no hesitation.

"Yes, Mary, yes," Matthew said, "Yes, of course. I'm going to prove it to you. If it takes a month, or a year, or years upon years- I'm going to work to show you that I'll stick by you. I won't let this happen again."

"Are you just saying this? Or do you really mean it?" Mary asked.

"Well, I suppose I should tell you," Matthew said, "I really am in this for the long hall. I'm quitting the UN. I've put in my two weeks notice. It's probably for the best, I was starting to get dirty looks after all the time I've spent off of work lately. I've found an office space, that's what I was in London for. I'm moving to London to be closer to you. I'm opening up my charity as a proper one- after all I'll have 500 million dollars. I'm going to focus on it and grow it. I really like the collaborative project we did- so if you are interested in doing more of that work, maybe that could be a niche. What do you think?"

Mary could hardly contain her grin, dashing at the tears in her eyes.

"Matthew," she said, "I think that is the most brilliant idea I've heard in a long time. Except for perhaps my own." She smiled coyly for a moment, before divulging her secret, "I've been accepted to Kings College London to get my masters in International Development. I want to keep building on the work we did in Burjambura. This line, has been one of the most challenging, most fulfilling thing, that I've done in a long time. I want to learn how to help people in the most sustainable ways."

Matthew launched at her, pulling her into his arms and lifting her around. She watched the trees blur around her, his warm hands on her stomach, the residual rain drops tickling her face. And everything felt so very right.

 

 


	20. Chapter 20: Phase Twenty- Take Me Back to Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so after loads of procrastination and literally 3 rewrites- here is the last chapter. I have ideas for an epilogue, but now timeline for getting it done. It's crazy how much my life has changed since this started- graduating college, spending a year in Ireland, and most recently, starting graduate school. I'm really happy to have had this story as escape through so many of the ups and downs. Thanks for the patience and love that has kept this story going. Enjoy!

"You're really moving to London?" Matthew said, placing Mary down on the ground.

The rain had finally stopped and the early evening sunlight was casting a gentle warmth across the countryside.

She felt dizzy and giddy. They were okay. They were really okay. And they were going to be moving to London- together.

She nodded, moving forward to kiss, to finally kiss him. After this terrible, disastrous, day, her lips were finally meeting his, moving over each other warmly. There was an eagerness, a desperateness that leaked into their lips: the feeling of being together after nearly losing each other. There was a feeling that if they stopped kissing, this might stop. This moment might end. They might be ripped from each other again.

Her hands moved into his hair, feeling the damp locks between her hands, smooth and slick. His hands were moving over back, then slipping below her sweater to run his fingers light over her spine. Mary thought smugly of her discarded bra and underwear. Matthew pulled back to give her a crooked smile as he made the same discovery.

He ran his hands from her back to her front, his fingers moving lightly over her breasts, cupping one in each hand and moving his thumbs to rub against her nipples until they tightened into buds. It was hard for Mary to suppress the little moan that escaped, which seemed only, and miraculously, to feed Matthew's fire even more.

He lifted the large jumper, his hands brushing against her skin as he pulled it off her, her arms raising to help him. When it was removed, she dropped her hands to his chest, where she clenched his t-shirt in her fists, before moving her hands up, pulling his shirt off him.

Their lips were back on each other, her hands carding through his hair once more, his own coming to rest on the waistband of her leggings. His hands seemed to swipe lower and lower each time till they met the place that made her knees tremble.

They lowered down to the ground, the damp grass tingling their legs.

Mary fiddled with the button on his jeans.

"Are we really doing this?" She mumbled, her brain a little too lust-drunk to care.

"Having hot, make up sex in a forest?" Matthew said, as yanked his zipped down, freeing him, "It looks like it."

"What if one Edith's neighbors sees us?" Mary asked, a little hesitant.

Matthew wrapped his arms around her back, gently lowering her onto the forest floor. The cold grass against her back made her only want to cling further to his warmth.

"Do I know them?" Matthew laughed, "I don't care."

He peeled off of her leggings, tantalizingly slow. The grass felt bizarre beneath her, but at the same time, it stirred something primitive and carnal inside of her. The kind of feeling that made it impossible to pull back, even if her conscience was saying otherwise.

"What about paps? What if someone gets a picture?" Mary whispered.

Matthew stilled above her. His face instantly worryied with lines.

"No, you're right. That's so careless of me. I'm sorry," He said, moving to pull her leggings back up, "After Pamuk, after our scandals- sorry, this is too risky. I shouldn't-"

But Mary caught his lips with a kiss and pulled him back over her.

"Shh, no," she hummed, "Let's just pretend we are normal people for a moment. Let's just do this."

He began to pepper her face in kisses, making a small circle around her face, from ear to forehead to the other ear. Before placing a kiss on her collarbone, between her breasts, her stomach, her lip, and then coming to rest between her legs. Then she was gasping, her hands twisting into grass, as his tongue flicked into her most sensitive of places.

* * *

It was later, after he'd found his way inside of her, after she shouted his name to the forest expanse as her walls vibrated around him, after he followed her high collapsing beside her, it was later that lay together in the forest. They laid in silence, her eyes fluttering close as she laid draped over his torso, and his hand stroking her hair lightly. Time stretched on, felt infinite as they lay there. Nothing could touch them here.

A cloud passed over the sun, a gentle breeze whispered over them- reminding them that a real world, outside their forest solitude, existed. Mary shivered and knew that their tiny spell was broken.

"Are you cold?" He asked, moving to grab her jumper.

She nodded sleepily into his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, and helped her sit up.

He laughed as he traced the flecks of mud that trailed up her back, "I'd never expect Mary Crawley to be covered in mud."

"There is a lot you don't expect about me," Mary said lightly.

"How true," He said, slipping the jumper over her head and watching her pull her arms through. "I never would have expected how wonderful you'd make my life."

She smiled, leaning forward to kiss his nose, "I never thought that the man my parents set me up with would end up being the love of my life."

"The love of you life, eh?" Matthew teased, as he helped her to her feet.

"Certainly," Mary said, "So, you better not mess this up."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Matthew said, remorse rolling over him as he looked for his trousers on the forest floor, "Truly, Mary, I honestly promise to never hurt you again."

"I believe you and I forgive you," she said. He looked up to see her fully dressed.

He noticed that she still shivering and he went to put his arm around her as they began the walk to Edith's.

"Are you feeling alright?" He asked.

She grimaced, "A touch shivery. I was, uh, stuck outside for quite a bit earlier in the rain. Edith was at the shops and I didn't have anywhere to go."

"Mary," He said, looking at her seriously, all of a sudden worried for her health, "How long were you in the rain for?"

"Two hours," she said, her face almost apologetic.

"Oh Mary," He pulled her closer, hoping she'd take on some of his body heat, "You should have told me, we never would have- uh, spent so much time outside."

"No, it's fine," She said, leaning into him, "I've always wanted to try the outdoor sex thing and it was quite the adventure."

"Will you tell me if you feel worse?" Matthew asked sincerely.

Mary nodded, "I'm sure that whatever Edith's making for dinner will pepper me up."

"Crikey," Matthew said, "I forgot she was preparing that. How long do you think we've been gone?"

"Not more than forty minutes," Mary reassured them. They were nearly to Edith's cottage now, as they watched it appear in the distance. "Do you think we look presentable?"

He ran his hand over her hair smoothing it. His thumb rubbed at a bit of dirt on her cheek as she grinned at him.

"You look darling as always, my dear. And I?" He said.

"You've a leaf in your hair," She laughed, reaching to flick it out of his hair, "But you'll do."

He pressed a kiss to her lips briefly, before tugging her forward. "Let's go."

When they walked into the cottage, they could tell that Edith was holding in a laugh at their vaguely bedraggedly states. She clearly knew exactly what had happened in the forest.

"Talk in the forest?" She laughed, as she set about putting dishes on the table.

Mary rolled her eyes, as they went to sit at the table. A roast chicken was sitting out, along with green beans and baked potatoes. Matthew realized how hungry he was. He hadn't eaten that morning and Anna, Rose, and Sybil had stayed true their "no pizza" promise.

"Who would have thought my sister would have become so domestic?" Mary mused, looking it over.

Edith's eyebrows raised, as if trying to assess if Mary was being kind.

"It's a good thing," Mary said, "I'm rubbish at cooking. You'll have to teach me some things."

"Really Edith," Matthew agreed, "This looks delicious."

"You're just saying this to see if I'll forgive you for being late to dinner," She said, "But we'll see."

They all smiled as they settled into the meal. Marigold came and joined them for dinner, but was whisked off to bed after they finished eating. Matthew didn't know much about the little girl, but she seemed to have the sweetest and easiest disposition. If he and Mary ever had children, he'd hope that their child was as docile as Marigold.

Edith got up to pour them all drink. Matthew smiled when he saw her bottle of nice scotch. That was enough to endear Mary's sister to him immediately. He had a feeling they'd become close one day.

"What do we do now?" Edith said, joining them at the table.

"I think we've got to face the family tomorrow," Mary said. "Father's been texting me all afternoon to ensure that I'm back tomorrow, so we might as well all go."

It was clear she'd been thinking about it for a while, the conclusion coming easily.

"All four of us," Mary continued, "We're going to take a stand against our father. It's high time that you get to live the life you want, Edith. Especially if that means following your heart."

"I should tell Bertie tonight then," Edith decided, "Shouldn't I?"

"He'll understand, you know," Matthew said, "I don't really know the whole story, at all really. But if he loves you, he'll find a way to understand."

He reached out to rub Mary's back, before adding, "That's love- having faith."

She smiled at up at him.

"I don't want to expose Marigold to that world," Edith said, "I don't want her face on tabloids or gossip websites."

"I know," Mary said, reaching for her sister's hand, "I hope that the press doesn't explode. I don't think they will. Besides, you're an author of literary fiction. I think the press see you more admirably than they see me. They'll be more forgiving. Honestly, Edith, nothing is worth living your life in secrecy, nothing is worth giving up a lifetime of love."

Matthew reached over to squeeze Mary's hand.

"You're right," Edith said, "I've got to do it."

"We'll be standing by your side," Mary promised.

"Thank you for that," Edith said.

"You should call him now," Mary recommended. "I'm going to escape to bed, I think. I'm rather exhausted from everything today, and you know, from the stupid mono thing. I'll have transport arranged back to the Berkshires tomorrow."

"Right," Edith said, "Let me open the guest cottage for you and Matthew."

He kept an arm around the small of Mary's back as they followed Edith out of her cottage and toward another, slightly smaller cottage in the area. The cold air bit at them in the brief amount of time they were outside. They were happy when Edith opened the door to the warm cottage.

"I put the heat on while you two were on your walk," Edith said. "I've had the bed made up. There is a kettle over there if you need tea. And there is soap and shampoo in the shower. Hopefully it will suit a fashion designer and world famous humanitarian."

"Oh shut up," Mary said, rolling her eyes at her sister. "This is really lovely, Edith. Thank you."

"Let me know if you need anything," Edith said, "I'll be right next door."

"Will you tell me how it goes with Bertie?" Mary said, "I won't be able to sleep unless I know things are at peace between you."

Edith gulped. Matthew could imagine how nervous she was to tell him the secret.

"I will," she agreed.

"And if he's disagreeable about it," Matthew said, "He'll have us to deal with."

He was already beginning to think of Edith as a younger sister.

"Thanks Matthew," Edith said, "I can tell you are trying quite hard to win me over. I'll let you know if you pass the test."

"Good night, Edith," Mary said, giving her sister a push, "And good luck."

Once Edith was gone, it was just the two of them. Matthew pulled Mary into his arms again, her arms wrapping around his neck and her head resting on his shoulder.

"I'm not sure I'll ever be done saying sorry," Matthew said, "I don't know what would have happened if I had lost you."

Mary shook her head, "I'm so glad we didn't lose each other."

"Are you tired?" He asked her, rubbing her back.

She nodded into his shoulder; "I hope we get a chance to rest when we are done with father tomorrow. I think I might be able to sleep for years."

"We do deserve a holiday, don't we?" Matthew said.

"We were just in Burundi," Mary pointed out.

"Mary, that was a business trip to a third world country. We deserve a proper holiday," He said.

"This is coming from a man who uses all of his vacation time to help at clinics in developing places," Mary teased.

"No, I mean it," Matthew said. "We've been through a lot this summer. I think we deserve a moment to escape it all and relax."

Mary pulled back and smiled at him, "I couldn't agree more. Let's take this moment to rest then."

"I'm going to shower," Matthew said, "You get comfy."

"Are you kidding?" Mary said, "I think I still have mud on my back. I'm definitely joining you for a shower."

They wound their way into the bathroom, discarding clothes casually as they went. Matthew warmed the water as he watched Mary lean against the counter. She looked statuesque, graceful. She was such a marvel- how had he been so foolish to not trust her- even just for a moment.

He checked the water and when he discovered it was satisfactory, he tugged on Mary's hand till she followed him under the spray. He was able to sense that Mary was exhausted enough to not try to make the shower into a passionate moment. Rather, he lathered up a loofa and began to scrub at her back, letting the caked mud fall away. Mary, in turn, put some shampoo on her hands and ran them lazily through his hair. Each movement of their hands were careful, something loving to the ministrations. _Healing touch_ , Matthew thought sleepily. There was something healing about caring for each other in this way.

Once their hands stilled, they lingered under the warm water for several long minutes, arms wrapped around each other, hot water drenching them. Matthew put a kiss on Mary's head, moving to find a towel. He patted her dry, before drying himself. Her eyes were already flickering closed, so he scooped her up in his arms and carried her into bed. She curled into a ball and he let his body curve around her, pulling the blankets around their shoulders.

"Are you feeling alright?" He asked.

"I'm okay," Mary said, "Tired and a little cold. I'm glad you're here."

"I'm glad I'm here too," Matthew told her, feeling the words in the depths of his heart.

She was silent for a very long time and Matthew himself was beginning to drift off.

"Did you really hide in the boot of a pizza delivery car?" She asked, her voice raspy and drowsy.

"Will you make fun of me forever if I say yes?" Matthew whispered.

"Surely," Mary said, snuggling down within his arms.

"It's a small price to pay," He said, "In exchange for having you."

"So that's a yes?"

* * *

They left early the next morning. Edith bucked them up with coffee and homemade scones, before a car arrived to pick them all up.

"Where are we going?" Asked Marigold.

"To visit granny and grandpa," Edith explained.

"The ones on the TV?" Marigold asked, "Like Auntie Mary?"

Mary rubbed Marigold's hair.

"Like that," She murmured.

Then they were rustling through the countryside. Mary had her iPad with her, sending e-mails to Kings College, scouring her new book list (with Matthew giving commentary on each reading), and catching up with work. Matthew, as well, was arranging work on his phone. "I have to start building a staff for our office. I have a few ideas, but I'm putting out notices," He explained. Marigold fell asleep early into the drive, in her usual fashion. Edith was typing away on a small keyboard, creating what was possibly another bestseller.

It took three and a half long hours to return to the castle-hotel where Mary's family was staying. It was nearly noon and Matthew's stomach had began to church in nervousness for Edith. What would Robert Crawley CEO think of her sister's reappearance?

Matthew was surprised when they drove the up drive that the hotel was still decorated for a wedding. He'd have thought that the family would look to hide that sort of thing as soon as the wedding failed. There was even a white carpet going up into main entrance of the house. Matthew cringed, it must awkward for Sybil to see this all being prepared for no reason.

Mary stretched her hand out to Matthew, as they got out of the car. He reached for it as they filed into the grand hotel, Edith and Marigold following hesitantly in their wake.

As soon as they got in, the first thing Matthew noticed was the whole family was there.

There was Sybil standing there, dressed in a spring dress and with well done make up. Her face lit up as soon as her niece walked in.

"Marigold," She squealed, crossing the room quickly to hug the little girl, who instantly hugged her back.

"Auntie Sybil," Marigold cooed back.

Cora's face was less compassionate. Her lips pursed firmly together.

"Edith," She said, "What were you thinking?"

"Come here," Cora said, "This way, Marigold too. Let's go in the library over here and work it all out. Robert needs to speak with Mary and Matthew right away."

"I need to speak with both of you right away," Mary said, launching into a monologue that he'd bet had been building her head all car ride. "What you've done to Edith- all this time. It's total shit. I can't believe you insisted in this bizarre arrangement. Force Edith to be a hermit? Why would you even suggest something like that? I've spent the last four years convinced that my sister was too aloof to spend time with us and you've been the one too aloof to have anything to do with her."

"Mary, stop," The man said.

Matthew's eyes turned to take in Robert Crawley CEO. He was dressed nicely, as Matthew imagined he would be. He had curly hair and a child-like round face. Matthew supposed he'd seen him on television before, but it was something totally different to see him in real life. This was Mary's father. Mary's distant, harsh, and controlling father. This was the man who'd e-mailed him months ago- changing this life for the better. He was the man who sent him a car randomly, because he was too distant to understand why that was impractical for him. He was the man that Matthew never met because he was always off living his life and not with his family. Matthew owed everything to him, because he'd brought Mary into his life. But Matthew also resented him for all the pain that he'd seen Robert Crawley CEO bring onto the family.

"Mary, listen to me," He said, "I've been thinking about what to do and I've found something that will solve all your problems. Your scandal, Sybil's scandal- it might even cover up Edith's. Mary, I have an idea that is going to fix everything."

Mary stared at her father. As mad as Mary was, Matthew knew that there was a part of her that respected her father. He was family. He was successful. He knew that there was a part of Mary that would listen to her father's request.

"What? What is it?" Mary snapped.

"Listen," He said, "Here is what is going to happen. Everything is still done up for a wedding. The guests are still here. You're going to get on the white dress you have upstairs. Matthew is going to put on the nicest suit we can find him. The pastor is still here. The hair and make up crew are still here. You have two hours. Then we'll see you in the chapel."

"What are you talking about?" She asked, "Why would we do that?"

"Listen, Mary, I know it sounds rash- but it really will fix all your problems. No one will think your relationship is fake if you are married. They'll know that it's really true love. No one will notice Sybil's ruined wedding because they'll be too busy focused on yours. Even Edith's problems will be overlooked in exchange for a Crawley wedding. See, Mary, don't you see- it will solve everything!"

Matthew gaped, unbelieving. He turned to Mary, whose lips were pursed together. She gulped.

He had imagined wedding Mary before. He couldn't deny it. When she put on that white dress a few days back- he had seen a future in front of him that he wanted more than anything. He could imagine how she'd pick Sybil and Rose and Anna and Edith as bridesmaids. He could imagine how he'd ask Tom to be his best man. He could imagine a small cousin as a flower girl, Robert Crawley CEO walking down the aisle, and Cora as a teary mother of the bride. He knew that Mary would revel in deciding colors and flowers and cake flavors. She loved to plan and design things. He bet she'd even wear a dress of her own design. He supposed wedding-planning Mary would be a delight to watch- more in her element than ever before. But even more so, he had seen a life that he truly wanted for himself. He wanted to wake up every day beside her. He wanted to watch all her favorite films, travel to all her favorite places, and learn her favorite parts of the city. He wanted to know her deepest thoughts and wildest dreams. They'd built a strong connection over the last 4 months and he felt as though he knew her thoroughly, but he wanted so much more. He wanted a life with her. He wanted to marry Mary more than anything.

He'd imagined the family they'd have. The moment's he'd seen Mary interact with Marigold had warmed his heart and he knew that he wanted that. He wanted them to have a family of their own. He imagined Sunday mornings, cooking breakfast together as a family in their pajamas. He imagined outings in London, the kids playing in the park, laughing and giggling. He imagined arguing over where to send them to school, if they should go to certain events, and what sort of trips to take them on. He relished the thought of all of it. The very thought set his heart on fire.

Of course, he would marry her.

But there was no way that Mary would agree to this. After all her speeches about standing up to her father, about how too much of their lives had been about protecting their image and not living their lives- after all that, there was no way that she would agree to that sort of a thing. He knew already that Mary, his storm braver Mary, would never, ever agree to marry him- just because her father said so. And Matthew loved her for it.

So it didn't surprise him, or disturb him when she opened her mouth and snapped, "Fuck no."

Robert's eyes looked as if they would pop out of his head.

"What do you mean no? You don't have a choice."

Mary rolled her eyes, "Sure I do. It's 2016, not 1916. You can't just order me to marry someone. Of course I have a choice."

"But you'll be letting your sisters down. You'll be leaving them and yourselves vulnerable to the press," Robert said, sternly.

"Who cares? I'm so, so absolutely completely done with living my life to please the press or please you. I'm going to do whatever I want to do, not living purely because I'm afraid of the press or ruining our family name," Mary explained.

Robert raked his hand over his face. He turned to Matthew, raising his eyebrows.

"What do you say Matthew? It's your name on the line as well," Robert said.

"I stand by Mary," Matthew said, "Wholeheartedly, and always."

Robert rolled his eyes, "How romantic. She says she doesn't want to marry you and you stand by her anyway."

"That's not fair," Mary said, "You're putting words in my mouth that aren't there. Of course, I want to marry Matthew. I love him. But we've been dating only since May. It's too soon. If we are as happy as we are now in a year or two, sure, gladly. We're so new now. I want to get married in our own time. I want our love story to be ours, not forced by you or anyone else."

Matthew reached for her hand and squeezed it.

"You are far too sentimental," Robert chastised, "You need to be realistic."

"No, you do," Mary said, "If we rush into a wedding now, we'll look like a laughing stock. Everyone has been following our drama for days now. Another wedding will only make our story look more ridiculous. We don't need that right now. We need to get our name out of the press. Lie low, maybe take a holiday- not dive into another silly scheme."

Matthew nodded. Mary was smart. She knew how to appeal to the logical side of Robert.

He was grimacing, which meant that Mary was probably getting through to him.

"Well, clearly, my thoughts are not respected here, so I'm leaving," Robert said, "I need to be at a gala event in Tokyo tomorrow anyway."

He moved to storm past them, but Mary put her hand on his arm to pause him.

"Father, Papa, you I care for you dearly," she said, her voice soft, "I love you and respect you immensely. You and I both know you are being rash and angry. I hope in time you realize I'm right."

He let out a huff.

"I'd love to see more of you in our lives. Take some time, calm down- but we'll be in London and if you ever want to visit, you are always welcome," Mary said.

Robert frowned a little, "We'll see, Mary."

She put a little kiss on his cheek, "Enjoy Tokyo."

They all watched as Robert Crawley CEO walked out of the hotel.

There was a moment of silence. Mary and Matthew stood in the entrance of the hotel staring at each other. They could hear Cora and Sybil and Edith chattering the library nearby. Time seemed to freeze for a moment. There had been so much all at once and now it was all over.

"So that happened," Matthew said.

"That indeed," Mary remarked.

He closed the gap between them by reaching for her. She exhaled into his hug. He rested his cheek on the crown of her head.

"I'm still sorry about yesterday," Matthew said, "I think I will be for the rest of my life."

"As you should be," Mary laughed gently, "I'm joking, I forgive you. Let's move past it."

They were silent for a moment longer. The warmth of Mary felt so comforting. He could feel her body move as she breathed and he wanted to hold on to her for forever.

"I meant what I said, Matthew," She said, "I do want to marry you one day. I hope you weren't upset that it isn't now."

"No, you wouldn't be my Mary if you said anything else but what you did to your father," Matthew said, "It's one of the many, many reasons I'm so proud of you."

Mary hummed and wrapped her arms tighter around his waist.

"So what do we do now?" Matthew asked.

"I say we go take a nap," Mary suggested, "Then maybe a walk around the grounds to plan out that holiday of ours."

"That sounds absolutely perfect," Matthew agreed.

* * *

Mary woke up a few hours later to a knock on her door. It was no doubt getting ridiculous the amount the of times in the last few day's she'd woken from a nap to someone knocking at the door. That or she just took far too many naps. She blamed the mono.

But Matthew lay completely asleep on the bed beside her, so maybe it was more than just the mono. They'd been through a lot recently. Stress was exhausting.

She extracted herself from Matthew's arms. A chill hit her when she vacated the covers and she realized that she was naked. She blushed, remembering the moments of soft intimacy that had preceded their nap. She reached to grab some underwear and a romper, quickly pulling them on before she opened the door.

"Sybil," Mary said softly, closing the door behind her, and taking in her sister.

Her hair was in a braid, dressed in a colorful pair of cropped leggings and a tank top. It was crazy to think that today was supposed to be her wedding day. She looked like a normal girl, in her twenties, recently graduated, with her whole life in front of her. For all the pain of the weekend, Mary was grateful that Sybil and Edith now had futures full of freedom.

"Hey," She said, "I heard about what happened with you and Father. You were brave. You did the right thing."

"I know I did," Mary said.

"I'm not sure I'd have the same courage," Sybil admitted. "Someone needed to stand up to him. I'm glad you did it."

Mary nodded. Sybil was being kind, but Mary wasn't sure this was worth waking up for.

"Anyway," Sybil laughed, "I didn't actually wake you up to shower you in compliments. I had a call."

"Oh?" Mary said, intrigued.

"The internship in DC. Someone dropped out last minute and they offered me the place," Sybil told her, pride unmasked making her cheeks glow.

"Oh Sybil!" Mary exclaimed, "That's marvelous! I'm so proud of you."

She reached forward to hug her little sister.

"I've booked a flight home for tonight," Sybil said, "I'll pack a few things and have the rest sent over by mother. But I'll be in DC by tomorrow."

"I'm so happy this is happening for you," Mary enthused, pulling away from her sister. "You deserve the best of everything."

The door behind Mary opened and Matthew came out, wrapping his arm around her waist from behind.

"Mmm, what's happening?" He asked sleepily.

"It's Sybil," She said, "She's got the internship."

"That's brilliant," Matthew remarked.

"I didn't just come here to brag," She said, giving a wry smile, "I was wondering if you could do me a favor."

"What kind?" Mary asked, leaning back into Matthew's touch. She realized he'd put a shirt on since they'd crawled into bed. She found this rather unfortunate, but knew that it could be amended later.

"Well, you see, I've had a honeymoon booked and paid for this next week," Sybil explained, "I won't be able to take it anymore, as I'll be in DC. And fucking Larry doesn't get anything. So, yeah, would you two like to go on the trip? I figure you two probably deserve it after everything that happened this week. And it will help you lay low after all the gossip."

"Where is it?" Mary asked, her conversation with Matthew about needing a proper holiday flicked through her head.

Sybil gave a coy smile, "I'm not going to tell you. All I can say is that a private jet is going to be leaving tomorrow morning to take someone on a fabulous holiday. Someone might as well take it."

Matthew mused, "What do you say, darling? Shall we go?"

Mary let out a small laugh, "I mean I suppose we can. It would be a pity for such a lovely holiday to go to waste. Besides, we could use a bit more surprise in our lives."

"Brilliant," Sybil said, passing them a folder, "Well here is everything you need. I'll leave you to it."

"Thanks, dear," Mary said, "Will you send a text when you are settled in DC?"

"Yes, of course," Sybil said.

Mary smiled and then reached forward to give her sister a hug, "You do know I am incredibly proud of you, right?"

Sybil nodded into her shoulder, "I do. We both were put in hard situations, but we survived and we're better for it."

When their hug ended, Matthew said awkwardly, "And well, Sybil, about Tom. What he did was inexcusable. I'm really sorry for the mess he caused you. But just know that he did what he did because he cares about you a great deal."

"Sure he does," Sybil snorted.

"I'm serious, Sybil," Matthew said. In a man as sincere as Matthew, it was hard to hide his earnestness. "I'm not saying you have to forgive him. I'm not saying that what he did was right. But he does care for you. I can promise you that."

"Okay," Sybil said, "Good to know. But I'm still pissed at him."

"As you should be," Matthew agreed. "Just know it comes from a bizarrely kind place."

Sybil laughed and then pursed her lips, a thoughtful look on her face. Hopeful, Mary decided it was.

"Enjoy the holiday, love birds," Sybil said finally, giving them a final grin.

"Enjoy DC, my darling," Mary said, reaching out to give her sister's hand a squeeze. "And safe travels."

* * *

Matthew thought there was something familiar about where the jet was landing. The azure sea, the mountains in green and dusty brown, the coastline dotted with sun-soaked buildings- he'd been here before. It was hard to place because sleep still clouded his eyes. They had left the hotel so early in the morning, the couple scrambling to pack in time. Both he and Mary had fallen asleep just after take-off. They'd dozed through the flight, only to have been woken moments ago by the attendant who passed them steaming cappuccinos. Leave it to the Crawley's to have an expresso machine on their private jet.

Mary stirred from his shoulder and looked outside.

"Nice," She declared.

Oh, yes, Nice. Cannes. That's why this looked familiar. They were landing at the Côte d'Azur Airport. The last time he'd been here was months ago when their whole journey was starting. The irony, the full-circleness of the moment wasn't lost on Matthew.

The cappuccinos were perfect for landing, both popping their ears and rousing them from their slumber. Matthew reached to grab their bags, but saw that the attendant was already taking care of it. They'd left their wedding finery behind at the hotel, knowing that it would make its way to the Eaton Square house somehow.

They walked off the plane and into the bright, late-summer sunlight of the Côte d'Azur.

"Excusé-moi, Madame Crawley?" A man said, running right up to Mary.

Matthew listened, enraptured as always, as Mary chatted easily with the man in French.

"He's going to drive us to the boat," Mary translated for Matthew.

A boat? Whatever, he was up for anything as long as Mary was with him.

He watched as the car wove dreamily along the coast. Mary laid her head on his shoulder and drifted back into sleep. Matthew couldn't take his eyes off the beauty of the coast, the beauty of his dozing girlfriend.

After what seemed like a few hours, they pulled over to a dock in St Tropez. Matthew woke Mary with kisses in her hair, tugging on her hand to take her out of the car. They boarded a small yacht that appeared to be waiting for them. Mary and Matthew took seats on the deck, taking in the sunshine and fresh air. Mary laid her head in Matthew's lap, her eyes gracefully closed.

"There's likely a bed inside, darling," Matthew said, "If you'd prefer a softer place to nap."

"Mmm, no, I want sunshine," Mary said, "My pale English skin simply craves it."

A bit later, an attendant came out of the cabin with champagne and a lunch of Mediterranean specialties. Mary roused for the meal, clinking her glass with his, a smile on her face.

As they were draining their glasses, an island came into view.

"Is this it?" Mary asked.

The attendant nodded.

They both watched as the island approached. The water was a perfect blue, shaded by the lush green hills with dusty brown peaking out in between. It was Provencal paradise.

They docked at a marina covered with private yachts. They climbed into another car waiting for them. The island had a small town. Matthew was sure that they'd explore it more in the future. For now, he just wanted to get their lodging.

It was a villa, an old building, with modern furnishings. It was hidden in a pocket of mountains with a small beach beside it and their own patch of deep blue horizon.

Matthew's arms wrapped around Mary as he helped her from the car. She hummed and leaned into him.

"Do you want to sleep more, darling?" He asked softly, as they walked into the house. There was a flight of stair in the entrance that he was sure led to several private and luscious bedrooms.

Mary shook her head.

"I slept nearly the whole way here. I'd rather spend time with you, exploring our little paradise," Mary said softly.

"Let's explore then," He said softly.

They walked through the house, hardly taking in the luxurious interior, as their mirroring thoughts took them through the front doors onto the beach.

In the distance, they could hear the chauffer driving off after having placed their bags in their house. In the present, they heard simply the sound of waves and their breaths alongside each other.

There was a sacred moment of stillness between them. And then Mary was shucking off her dress and running into the sea. Matthew chuckled, marveling in her spirit and form, as he watched her. He quickly stripped and took off after her.

The water was fairy warm, having all summer under the Mediterranean sun to heat. He splashed his way to where Mary was standing, wrapping wet arms around her.

"We made it," She whispered.

Matthew didn't know if she was referring to the sea, to France or them, their relationship. Regardless, they'd made it. They were happy, safely unmarried, and terribly and blissfully in love.

"We did," Matthew sighed, turning to kiss her.

* * *

They returned to the beach that night, after they'd tried to make dinner together- a colorful salad made from ingredients they found pre-stocked in the fridge, and fresh baguette. When they finished, Mary discovered a bottle of rosé and a carton of strawberries from the fridge, which she snatched up before sashaying out to beach. She could tell they were bought fresh from a market today and she itched to go explore. Maybe tomorrow, she thought lazily, already imagining her in a sunhat with Matthew on her arm perusing a Provincial market.

Matthew spread a blanket out before them. Mary stretched out upon it, placing their picnic before them.

"Don't fall asleep," Matthew teased, uncorking the bottle of rosé.

"Very funny," Mary said, smacking him, as he sat on the blanket beside her. "I can't believe how much I've slept in the last few months."

"Maybe you should go to the doctors again," Matthew suggested, his words sputtering out into a monologue, "I've been looking up stuff about mono. Sorry if that's too worrying of me, but I just wanted to know more about what you are going through. I read that some people develop anemia from mono, that might have happened with you. It would explain why you've been so exhausted."

Mary shrugged. She didn't want to talk about illness, or things getting worse. She just wanted to enjoy this stolen honeymoon with Matthew. "It's not a big deal. I've got enough on my plate with starting grad school and moving and-"

"That's exactly why Mary," Matthew said, his voice more adamant now. "You are so driven. I'd hate for you to miss out on all you want to do."

She nodded, still uncertain about the proposition, but reluctantly knowing that he was partly right. She didn't want to tell him that, so instead she reached for the bottle of rosé. She took a gulp straight from the bottle.

She smiled, "Do you remember our first day together in Paris?"

Matthew grinned, "Drinking by Seine. We didn't have cups, so we just drank from the bottle."

"You aren't very fastidious about these things," Mary told him.

"But you love me for it," Matthew teased, raising his eyebrows.

"I do," She said, the tension of the previous moment diffused, "I love you for it."

They were silent for a while, listening to the waves and passing the bottle between them.

"Where will we live in London?" Matthew asked. "We'll have to start apartment planning soon."

"What if we moved to the house in Eaton Square?" Mary suggested, the idea already on her tongue, an echo of a thought that'd been fluttering through her head for the last few hours. "It hasn't been a proper home in years."

"Really? Eaton Square?" Matthew asked.

"I've been having this dream for a while now, where the house is ours," She said, thinking of the reoccurring dream, the room after room, the feeling of finally having it be a home.

"It's rather excessive, isn't it Mary?" Matthew said, hesitantly, "I'm not sure I'd feel comfortable in a place like that."

"We could redo it," Mary said, rattling out plans, surprised by her own imagination suddenly roaring to life. "I have a friend who does interior design. We could make it more minimalist- less regal, more subtle. Art that we bring back from Burundi. Upholstery that I design. Maybe some vintage tennis racquets on the walls. Make it ours, truly."

Matthew bit his lip, "I trust you Mary, if you think it can be a good home for us, I believe you."

"See look at our compromising," Mary laughed, "We're practically a married couple." She flinched a bit, sitting up, rethinking her words, "Too soon for those jokes?"

Matthew smiled warmly at her, "It's fine Mary. I stand by what I said yesterday, you wouldn't be my Mary if you had agreed to your father's demands. You are stubborn and feisty, and that makes you you." He placed the bottle in the sand, his hand lightly on her cheek, "I love _you_."

"I know you do," Mary said, "And my whole life is better for it."

"My whole life is better for you too."

He reached forward to kiss her, letting his hand slide into her hair. She moved forward to straddle him, her hands resting on his chest.

As she felt his warmth beneath her, her thoughts drifted to the very beginning. Seeing him at that press conference on the TV, Cora exclaiming that he was the solution to all their problems. The awkward first date, where he was drunk and she was rude, but they managed to dazzle everyone regardless. That morning they both showed up with Starbucks in Central Park; when he stood up for her at Hamilton in front of Lavinia's friend; and Paris, their dazzling, heartbreaking first weekend together in Paris. Who would have every guessed the way that their relationship would evolve into the breathtaking love story they had found in each other?

Mary thought of Sybil in the bridal store, talking to Tom, so long ago. "He's going to give her her life back." Mary had thought that fake dating Matthew would take her back to the place she'd been before the scandals erupted and tarnished her public appearance. What she didn't realize was that he hadn't taken her back, _he had taken her forward_. She cared more about the world now. She had more compassion, more softness. She had a hunger to learn for the first time in a very long time. Not that she had been insufficient before, but she felt more fully fleshed out now. She felt stretched and challenged and authentically Mary. His love for her had let her evolve into a new version of herself that she'd never experienced before.

"Mmm," Matthew said, pulling her from her mental montage, "This is a private island, right?"

Mary nodded into her kiss.

"Excellent," Matthew said, tugging at Mary's shirt and lifting it over her head.

"Please do," Mary encouraged, smiling, bending down for more kisses.

She pushed lightly on his chest and in a moment, he'd flipped them, her back against the sand, him above her.

As the hazy pleasure of making love settled over her, she thought of how lovely this moment was- the smell of the sea, the stars hanging above them, the only noise the waves and their breathing, and tender ecstasy that was making love to Matthew. This was worth it all. It was worth the fake dating scheme, the sickness, the moments of breaking that led to their healing, the scandal and headlines- it was worth it all for this moment, this future, this love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so that's it. I hope that this sweet last chapter was worth the wait. I'd love to hear your thoughts. Much love xo Megan

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhh! I can't wait to hear what you guys think about it! Reviews bring me joy, so feel free to spread some :)


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